Out spoke the hardy Highland wight, And, by my word! the bonny bird By this the storm grew loud apace, But still as wilder blew the wind, "O haste thee, haste!" the lady cries, The boat has left a stormy land, When, oh! too strong for human hand, And still they rowed, amidst the roar Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore For sore dismayed, through storm and shade, His child he did discover! One lovely arm was stretched for aid, And one was round her lover. "Come back! come back!" he cried in grief, "Across this stormy water; And I'll forgive your Highland chief My daughter!-oh! my daughter!' 'Twas vain: the loud waves lashed the shore, Return or aid preventing : The waters wild went o'er his child And he was left lamenting. THE BATTLE OF HOHENLINDEN. ON Linden, when the sun was low, Of Iser, rolling rapidly. But Linden saw another sight, By torch and trumpet fast arrayed, Then shook the hills with thunder riven ! But redder yet that light shall glow 'Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun Shout in their sulphurous canopy. The combat deepens. On, ye brave, Few, few shall part where many meet! YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND. YE Mariners of England! That guard our native seas; And sweep through the deep, The spirit of your fathers Shall start from every wave! For the deck it was their field of fame, Britannia needs no bulwark, Her march is o'er the mountain waves, Her home is on the deep. I With thunders from her native oak, As they roar on the shore, When the stormy winds do blow; Till danger's troubled night depart, To the fame of your name, When the storm has ceased to blow: THE BATTLE OF THE BALTIC OF Nelson and the North, Sing the glorious day's renown, All the might of Denmark's crown, And her arms along the deep proudly shone ; In a bold determined hand, Led them on. Like leviathans afloat Lay their bulwarks on the brine; While the sign of battle flew On the lofty British line: *Or the battle of Copenhagen, in which Sir Hyde Parker and Nelson captured and destroyed the whole of the Danish fleet (1801). It was ten of April morn by the chime : But the might of England flushed 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, Of the sun. Again! again! again! And the havock did not slack, Till a feeble cheer, the Dane, To our cheering, sent us back : Their shots along the deep slowly boom :- As they strike the shattered sail; Light the gloom. Out spoke the victor then, As he hailed them o'er the wave; To our king." Then Denmark blessed our chief, |