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There were forty craft in Avès that were both swift and stout,

All furnish'd well with small-arms and cannons round about;

But the last tune that the harp play'd And a thousand men in Avès made laws

then,

Binnorie, O Binnorie;

Was-"Woe to my sister, false Helen!" By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.

AUTHOR UNKNOWN.

BONNIE GEORGE CAMPbell.

HIE upon Hielands,
And low upon Tay,
Bonnie George Campbell
Rade out on a day.

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Oh the palms grew high in Avès and fruits | Better he loves each golden curl

that shone like gold,

And the colibris and parrots they were gorgeous to behold;

And the negro maids to Avès from bondage fast did flee,

To welcome gallant sailors a-sweeping in

from sea.

On the brow of that Scandinavian girl Than his rich crown jewels of ruby and pearl;

And his Rose of the Isles is dying!

Thirty nobles saddled with speed; (Hurry!)

Each one mounting a gallant steed

Oh sweet it was in Avès to hear the land- Which he kept for battle and days of

ward breeze

A-swing with good tobacco in a net be

tween the trees,

need;

(Oh ride as though you were flying!) Spurs were struck in the foaming flank;

With a negro lass to fan you while you lis- Worn-out chargers stagger'd and sank; Bridles were slacken'd, and girths were

ten'd to the roar

Of the breakers on the reef outside that never touch'd the shore.

But Scripture saith, an ending to all fine things must be,

So the King's ships sail'd on Avès, and

quite put down were we.

burst;

But ride as they would, the king rode first,

For his Rose of the Isles lay dying!

His nobles are beaten one by one; (Hurry!)

All day we fought like bulldogs, but they They have fainted, and falter'd, and home

burst the booms at night;

And I fled in a piragua sore wounded from the fight.

Nine days I floated starving, and a negro lass beside,

Till for all I tried to cheer her, the poor young thing she died;

But as I lay a-gasping a Bristol sail came by,

And brought me home to England here to beg until I die.

ward gone;

His little fair page now follows alone,

For strength and for courage trying. The king look'd back at that faithful child; Wan was the face that answering smiled; They pass'd the drawbridge with clattering din,

Then he dropp'd; and only the king rode in

Where his Rose of the Isles lay dying!

The king blew a blast on his bugle horn; (Silence!)

And now I'm old and going-I'm sure I No answer came; but faint and forlorn

can't tell where;

One comfort is, this world's so hard I can't be worse off there:

If I might but be a sea-dove I'd fly across the main,

An echo return'd on the cold gray morn,

Like the breath of a spirit sighing. The castle portal stood grimly wide; None welcomed the king from that weary ride;

To the pleasant Isle of Avès, to look at it For dead, in the light of the dawning

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The tears gush'd forth which he strove to
check;

He bow'd his head on his charger's neck:
"O steed-that every nerve didst strain,
Dear steed, our ride hath been in vain
To the halls where my love lay dying!"

CAROLINE NORTON.

A SONG OF THE NORTH.

And the stars in the skies with their great wild eyes,

Peer'd out from the Northern Lights. The gallant Crozier and brave Fitz James,

And even the stout Sir John,

Felt a doubt like a chill through their warm hearts thrill

As they urged the good ships on.

"AWAY! away!" cried the stout Sir They sped them away, beyond cape and

John,

"While the blossoms are on the trees; For the summer is short and the time speeds on,

As we sail for the northern seas.
Ho! gallant Crozier and brave Fitz James!
We will startle the world, I trow,
When we find a way through the North-

ern seas

That never was found till now! A good stout ship is the Erebus

As ever unfurl'd a sail,

And the Terror will match with as brave a

one

As ever outrode a gale."

bay,

Where even the tear-drops freeze;
But no way was found by a strait or sound,
To sail through the Northern seas;
They sped them away, beyond cape and
bay,

And they sought, but they sought in

vain,

For no way was found, through the ice around,

To return to their homes again.
Then the wild waves rose, and the waters
froze

Till they closed like a prison-wall;
And the icebergs stood, in the sullen flood,
Like their jailers grim and tall.

So they bade farewell to their pleasant O God! O God!—it was hard to die

homes,

To the hills and the valleys green, With three hearty cheers for their native isle,

And three for the English queen. They sped them away beyond cape and bay,

Where the day and the night are oneWhere the hissing light in the heavens grew bright

And flamed like a midnight sun.
There was naught below save the fields of

snow,

That stretch'd to the icy Pole;
And the Esquimaux, in his strange canoe,
Was the only living soul!

Along the coast like a giant host

The glittering icebergs frown'd,

Or they met on the main like a battle-
plain,

And crash'd with a fearful sound!
The seal and the bear, with a curious stare,
Look'd down from the frozen heights,

In that prison-house of ice!
For what was fame, or a mighty name,
When life was the fearful price?

The gallant Crozier and brave Fitz James,
And even the stout Sir John,

Had a secret dread and their hopes all
fled,

As the weeks and the months pass'd on. Then the Ice King came, with his eyes of flame,

And look'd on that fated crew;
His chilling breath was as cold as death,
hearts
And it pierced their warm

through.

A heavy sleep, that was dark and deep,
Came over their weary eyes,

And they dream'd strange dreams of the
hills and streams,

And the blue of their native skies.

The Christmas chimes of the good old times

Were heard in each dying ear,

And the dancing feet and the voices sweet | Through tangled juniper, beds of reeds,

Of their wives and their children dear! But it faded away-away-away! Like a sound on a distant shore; And deeper and deeper grew the sleep, Till they slept to wake no more!

Oh, the sailor's wife and the sailor's child!

They will weep and watch and pray; And the Lady Jane, she will hope in vain

As the long years pass away!

The gallant Crozier and brave Fitz James,
And the good Sir John have found
An open way to a quiet bay,

And a port where we all are bound.
Let the waters roar on the ice-bound shore
That circles the frozen Pole,

But there is no sleep and no grave so deep

That can hold a human soul.

ELIZABETH DOTEN.

THE LAKE OF THE DISMAL SWAMP.

"THEY made her a grave too cold and damp

For a soul so warm and true;

And she's gone to the Lake of the Dismal Swamp,

Where all night long, by a firefly lamp,

She paddles her white canoe. "And her firefly lamp I soon shall see,

And her paddle I soon shall hear; Long and loving our life shall be, And I'll hide the maid in a cypress tree, When the footstep of death is near." Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds,His path was rugged and sore,

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Build thee more stately mansions, Orry Soul,
As the swift seasons role!

Leave thy Low- vaulted past!

Let each new temple, nobler than the last, Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vost, Till thon at length art free,

Leaving thine outgrown shell by lifes unresting sea! Oliver. Wendell Holmes.

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