a LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER. 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 horsemen hard behind us ride; Should they our steps discover, Then who will cheer my bonny bride When they have slain her lover?" Out spoke 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, By this the storm grew loud apace, But still, as wilder blew the wind, And as the night grew drearer, Adown the glen rode arméd men Their trampling sounded nearer. "O, haste thee, haste!” the lady cries, 'T was vain ;-the loud waves lashed the shore, Return or aid preventing ; The waters wild went o'er his child: THOMAS CAMPBELL. THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 'TOP! for thy tread is on an empire's dust; An earthquake's spoil is sepulchred below; Is the spot marked with no colossal bust? Nor column trophied for triumphal show? None; but the moral's truth tells simpler so. As the ground was before, thus let it be. How that red rain hath made the harvest grow And this all the world has gained by thee, Thou first and last of fields, king-making victory? There was a sound of revelry by night, And Belgium's capital had gathered then Her beauty and her chivalry; and bright The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men: A thousand hearts beat happily; and when Music arose, with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, And all went merry as a marriage-bell. But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising kneli! Did ye not hear it? No; 'twas but the wind, On with the dance! let joy be unconfined! No sleep till morn when youth and pleasure meet Sat Brunswick's fated chieftian; he did hear And caught its tone with death's prophetic ear: And when they smiled because he deemed it near, His heart more truly knew that peal too well Which stretched his father on a bloody bier, And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell; He rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell! Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness; For, sore dismayed, through storm and shade, The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs One lovely hand she stretched for aid, And one was round her lover. Which ne'er might be repeated: who could guess 'Come back! come back!" he cried in grief, And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, "Across this stormy water; And I'll forgive your Highland chief, My daughter!-O, my daughter!" The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war ; And the deep thunder, peal on peal, afar, And near, the beat of the alarming drum Roused up the soldier ere the morning-star; While thronged the citizens with terror dumb, Or whispering, with white lips, "The foe! they come ! they come!" Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent 66 THE PEBBLE AND THE ACORN. AM a pebble! and yield to none!" The Acorn was shock'd at this rude salute, "Since it has happen'd that I am thrown The Pebble looked up, and, wondering, said, In the narrow space of its little cup! And meekly to sink in the darksome earth, To come and admire the beautiful tree, Shall show the purpose for which I've been?" HANNAH F. GOULD. A HUNTING WE WILL GO. HE dusky night rides down the sky, The wife around her husband throws Yet a hunting we will go. Away they fly to 'scape the rout, Their steeds they soundly switch; Yet a hunting we will go. Sly Reynard now like lightning flies, Then a hunting we will go. At last his strength to faintness worn, When a hunting we did go Ye jovial hunters, in the morn Prepare then for the chase; Rise at the sounding of the horn And health with sport embrace, When a hunting we do go. HENRY FIElding. MAUD MULLER. AUD Muller, on a summer's day, Singing, she wrought, and her merry glee But, when she glanced to the far-off town, Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid, And ask a draught from the spring that flowed She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up, And blushed as she gave it, looking down He spoke of the grass and flowers and trees, And Maud forgot her briar-torn gown, And listened, while a pleased surprise At last, like one who for delay "I'd dress my mother so grand and gay, The Judge looked back as he climbed the hill, And her modest answer and graceful air "No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs, So, closing his heart, the Judge rode on, But the lawyers smiled that afternoon, And the young girl mused beside the well, He wedded a wife of richest dower, Oft when the wine in his glass was red, Free as when I rode that day, And oft, when the summer sun shone hot In the shade of the apple-tree again And, gazing down with timid grace, SOLDIER of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, There was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman's tears; But a comrade stood beside him, while his life-blood ebbed away, And some were young, and suddenly beheld life's morn decline And one had come from Bingen- fair Bingen on the Rhine. "Tell my mother that her other son shall comfort her old age; For I was still a truant bird, that thought his home a cage, For my father was a soldier, and even as a child My heart leaped forth to hear him tell of struggles fierce and wild; And when he died, and left us to divide his scanty hoard, I let them take whate'er they would, but kept my father's sword; And with boyish love I hung it where the bright light used to shine, On the cottage wall at Bingen-calm Bingen on the Rhine. "Tell my sister not to weep for me, and sob with drooping head, When troops come marching home again with glad and gallant tread, But to look upon them proudly, with a calm and steadfast eye, For her brother was a soldier too, and not afraid to die; And if a comrade seek her love, I ask her in my name, And to hang the old sword in its place (my father's To listen to him kindly, without regret or shame, sword and mine), For the honor of old Bingen-dear Bingen on the Rhine. And bent, with pitying glances, to hear what he might "There's another-not a sister; in the happy days say. gone by The dying soldier faltered, and he took that com- You'd have known her by the merriment that sparkrade's hand, led in her eye; And he said, "I nevermore shall see my own, my na Too innocent for coquetry-too fond for idle scorntive land; ing Take a message, and a token, to some distant friends O friend! I fear the lightest heart makes sometimes of mine, heaviest mourning! For I was born at Bingen-fair Bingen on the Tell her the last night of my life (for, ere the moon be Rhine. "Tell my brothers and companions, when they meet and crowd around To hear my mournful story, in the pleasant vineyard ground, That we fought the battle bravely, and when the day was done, risen, My body will be out of pain, my soul be out of prison) I dreamed I stood with her, and saw the yellow sunlight shine On the vine-clad hills of Bingen-fair Bingen on the Rhine. Full many a corse lay ghastly pale beneath the set- "I saw the blue Rhine sweep along; I heard, or ting sun; seemed to hear, And, mid the dead and dying, were some grown old The German songs we used to sing, in chorus sweet in wars and clear; The death-wounds on their gallant breasts, the last of And down the pleasant river, and up the slanting many scars; hill, The echoing chorus sounded, through the evening calm and still; And her glad blue eyes were on me, as we passed, with friendly talk, Down many a path beloved of yore, and well remembered walk! And her little hand lay lightly, confidingly in mine,— But we'll meet no more at Bingen-loved Bingen on the Rhine." His trembling voice grew faint and hoarse, his grasp was childish weak His eyes put on a dying look-he sighed, and ceased to speak; His comrade bent to lift him, but the spark of life had fled The soldier of the Legion in a foreign land is dead! And the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly she looked down On the red sand of the battle-field, with bloody corses strewn ; Yes, calmly on the dreadful scene her pale light seemed to shine, As it shown on distant Bingen-fair Bingen on the Rhine. CAROLINE ELIZABETH NORTON. The western tide crept up along the sand, And o'er and o'er the sand, And round and round the sand, As far as eye could see. a A NAME IN THE SAND LONE I walk'd the ocean strand; And so, methought, 'twill shortly be Will sweep across the place Where I have trod the sandy shore Of Time, and been to be no more, Of me my day-the name I bore, To leave nor track nor trace. And yet, with Him who counts the sands, I know a lasting record stands, Of all this mortal part has wrought, HANNAH F. GOULD. OVER THE HILLS FROM THE POOR-HOUSE. [Sequel to "Over the Hill to the Poor-House."] VER the hills to the poor-house sad paths have been made to-day, For sorrow is near, such as maketh the heads of the young turn gray, Causing the heart of the careless to throb with a fevered breath The sorrow that leads to the chamber whose light has gone out in death. The rolling mist came down and hid the land,- To Susan, Rebecca and Isaac, to Thomas and Charley, And never home came she. "O, is it weed, or fish, or floating hair A tress o' golden hair, A drownéd maiden's hair Above the nets at sea? Was never salmon yet that shone so fair Among the stakes on Dee." They rowed her in across the rolling foam, To her grave beside the sea; But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home Across the sands of Dee! CHARLES KINGSLEY. word sped That mother was ill and fast failing, perhaps when they heard, might be dead ; But e'en while they wrote she was praying that some of her children might come To hear from her lips their last blessing before she should start for her home. To Susan, poor Susan ! how bitter the agony brought by the call, For deep in her heart for her mother wide rooms ha.l been left after all; And now, that she thought, by her fireside one place had been vacant for years— And while "o'er the hills she was speeding her path might be traced by her tears, |