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 flushed
To anticipate the scene,

And her van the fleeter rushed

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 cease and all is wail,

As they strike the shattered sail;
Or, in conflagration pale,

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 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

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.

THE CAVALIER'S ESCAPE.

WALTER THORNBURY.

TRAMPLE! trample! went the roan,

Trap! trap! went the gray;

But pad! pad! pad! like a thing that was mad,

My chestnut broke away.

It was just five miles from Salisbury town,

And but one hour to-day.

Thud! thud! came on the heavy roan,
Rap! rap! the mettled gray;

But my chestnut mare was of blood so rare,
That she showed them all the way.
Spur on! spur on! I doffed my hat,
And wished them all good day.

They splashed through miry rut and pool,-
Splintered through fence and rail;

But chestnut Kate switched over the gate,
I saw them droop and tail.

To Salisbury town - but a mile of down;
Once over this brook and rail.

Trap! trap! I heard their echoing hoofs
Past the walls of mossy stone;

The roan flew on at a staggering pace,
But blood is better than bone.

I patted old Kate, and gave her the spur,
For I knew it was all my own.

But trample! trample! came their steeds,
And I saw their wolfs' eyes burn;
I felt like a royal hart at bay,

And made me ready to turn.

I looked where highest grew the may,
And deepest arched the fern.

I flew at the first knave's sallow throat;
One blow and he was down.

The second rogue fired twice, and missed;

I sliced the villain's crown.

Clove through the rest, and flogged brave Kate, Fast, fast to Salisbury town!

Pad! pad! they came on the level sward,

Thud! thud! upon the sand;

With a gleam of swords, and a burning match,
And a shaking of flag and hand;

But one long bound, and I passed the gate,
Safe from the canting band.

BONNIE DUNDEE.

WALTER SCOTT. EXTRACTS.

To the Lords of Convention 'twas Claverhouse spoke : Ere the king's crown go down, there are crowns to be

broke,

So let each cavalier who loves honor and me,
Come follow the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee !

Dundee, he is mounted, he rides up the street,

The bells are rung backward, the drums they are beat, But the provost (douce man) said, "Just e'en let him be, For the town is weel rid of that de'il o' Dundee !"

He spurred to the foot of the proud castle rock, And with the gay Gordon he gallantly spoke: "Let Mons Meg and her marrows speak twa words or three

For the love of the bonnet of Bonnie Dundee."

The Gordon demands of him which way he goes,
"Where'er shall direct me the shade of Montrose
Your Grace in short space shall hear tidings of me,
Or low lies the bonnet of Bonnie Dundee.

"There are hills beyond Pentland and lands beyond Forth,

If there's lords in the lowlands, there's chiefs in the North,