'I read you by your bugle horn His blast is heard at merry morn, I would I were with Edmund there, 'With burnish'd brand and musketoon, I read you for a bold Dragoon That lists the tuck of drum.' 'I list no more the tuck of drum, Yet mickle must the maiden dare, 'Maiden! a nameless life I lead, The fiend, whose lantern lights the mead And when I'm with my comrades met What once we were we all forget, CHORUS Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair, And you may gather garlands there Would grace a summer queen. SIR W. SCOTT. BATTLE OF THE BALTIC Or 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; On the lofty British line : It was ten of April morn by the chime: There was silence deep as death; For a time. But the might of England flush'd 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. 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; Light the gloom. Out spoke the victor then As he hail'd them o'er the wave; So peace instead of death let us bring; With the crews, at England's feet, To our King.' Then Denmark bless'd our chief As death withdrew his shades from the day. O'er a wide and woeful sight, Where the fires of funeral light Died away. Now joy, old England, raise! Whilst the wine-cup shines in light; Full many a fathom deep, Brave hearts! to Britain's pride 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, Of the brave! T. CAMPBELL. YOUNG LOCHINVAR O, YOUNG Lochinvar is come out of the West! He stay'd not for brake and he stopp'd not for stone; The bride had consented, the gallant came late; So boldly he enter'd the Netherby Hall, Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all;— Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word), 'O, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar ? 'I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied ;- The bride kiss'd the goblet: the knight took it up, So stately his form, and so lovely her face, That never a hall such a galliard did grace; While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, When they reach'd the hall door; and the charger stood near; So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung! 'She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur; They'll have fleet steeds that follow,' quoth young Lochinvar. There was mounting 'mong Græmes of the Netherby clan, Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar ? SIR W. SCOTT. THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS IT was the schooner Hesperus, That sailed the wintry sea; And the skipper had taken his little daughter, To bear him company. Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax, And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds, The skipper he stood beside the helm, With his pipe in his mouth, And watch'd how the veering flaw did blow |