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!

LXVIII

Campbell.

BATTLE SONG

Day, like our souls, is fiercely dark;
What then? 'Tis day!

We sleep no more; the cock crows-hark!
To arms! away!

They come! they come! the knell is rung
Of us or them;

Wide o'er their march the pomp is flung
Of gold and gem.

What collared hound of lawless sway,

To famine dear,

What pensioned slave of Attila,

Leads in the rear?

Come they from Scythian wilds afar

Our blood to spill?

Wear they the livery of the Czar?

They do his will.

Nor tasselled silk, nor epaulette,

Nor plume, nor torse―

No splendour gilds, all sternly met,
Our foot and horse.

But, dark and still, we inly glow,

Condensed in ire!

Strike, tawdry slaves, and ye shall know
Our gloom is fire.

In vain your pomp, ye evil powers,
Insults the land;

Wrongs, vengeance, and the cause are ours,
And God's right hand!
Madmen! they trample into snakes
The wormy clod!

Like fire, beneath their feet awakes
The sword of God!
Behind, before, above, below,

They rouse the brave;
Where'er they go, they make a foe,

Or find a grave.

LXIX

LOYALTY

Elliott.

HAME, hame, hame, hame fain wad I be,

O hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!

When the flower is i' the bud and the leaf is on the tree, The lark shall sing me hame in my ain countrie;

Hame, hame, hame, hame fain wad I be,

O hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!

The green leaf o' loyaltie's begun for to fa',
The bonnie white rose it is withering an' a';
But I'll water 't wi' the blude of usurping tyrannie,
An' green it will grow in my ain countrie.

Hame, hame, hame, hame fain wad I be,

O hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!

The great are now gane, a' wha ventured to save;
The new grass is springing on the tap o' their grave:
But the sun thro' the mirk blinks blythe in my e'e,
'I'll shine on ye yet in yere ain countrie.'

Hame, hame, hame, hame fain wad I be,
Hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!

LXX

A SEA-SONG

A WET sheet and a flowing sea,
A wind that follows fast

And fills the white and rustling sail
And bends the gallant mast;
And bends the gallant mast, my boys,

While like the eagle free

Away the good ship flies, and leaves
Old England on the lee.

O for a soft and gentle wind!
I heard a fair one cry;

But give to me the snoring breeze
And white waves heaving high;
And white waves heaving high, my lads,
The good ship tight and free—
The world of waters is our home,

And merry men are we.

There's tempest in yon hornèd moon,
And lightning in yon cloud;
But hark the music, mariners!
The wind is piping loud;

The wind is piping loud, my boys,
The lightning flashes free-
While the hollow oak our palace is,

Our heritage the sea.

Cunningham.

LXXI

A SONG OF THE SEA

THE Sea! the Sea! the open Sea!
The blue, the fresh, the ever free!
Without a mark, without a bound,

It runneth the earth's wide regions 'round;
It plays with the clouds; it mocks the skies;
Or like a cradled creature lies.

I'm on the Sea! I'm on the Sea!

I am where I would ever be;

With the blue above, and the blue below,
And silence wheresoe'er I go;

If a storm should come and awake the deep,
What matter? I shall ride and sleep.

I love (O! how I love) to ride
On the fierce foaming bursting tide,
When every mad wave drowns the moon,
Or whistles aloft his tempest tune,
And tells how goeth the world below,
And why the south-west blasts do blow.

I never was on the dull, tame shore,
But I loved the great Sea more and more,
And backwards flew to her billowy breast,
Like a bird that seeketh its mother's nest;
And a mother she was, and is to me;
For I was born on the open Sea!

The waves were white, and red the morn,
In the noisy hour when I was born;

And the whale it whistled, the porpoise rolled,
And the dolphins bared their backs of gold;
And never was heard such an outcry wild
As welcomed to life the Ocean-child!

I've lived since then, in calm and strife,
Full fifty summers a sailor's life,

With wealth to spend, and a power to range,
But never have sought, nor sighed for change;
And Death, whenever he come to me,

Shall come on the wide unbounded Sea!

Procter.

LXXII

SENNACHERIB

THE Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen: