The better days of life were ours ;

The worst can be but mine :
The sun that cheers, the storm that lours,

Shall never more be thine.
The silence of that dreamless sleep
I envy now too much to weep ;

Nor need I to repine
That all those charms have pass'd away
I might have watch'd through long decay.
The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatch'd

Must fall the earliest prey ;
Though by no hand untimely snatch'd,

The leaves must drop away.
And yet it were a greater grief
To watch it withering, leaf by leaf,

Than see it pluck'd today ;
Since earthly eye but ill can bear
To trace the change to foul from fair.
I know not if I could have borne

To see thy beauties fade;
The night that follow'd such a morn

Had worn a deeper shade:
Thy day without a cloud hath past,
And thou wert lovely to the last,

Extinguish’d, not decay'd ;
As stars that shoot along the sky
Shine brightest as they fall from high
As once I wept, if I could weep,

My tears might well be shed
To think I was not near, to keep

One vigil o'er thy bed :
To gaze, how fondly! on thy face,
To fold thee in a faint embrace,

Uphold thy drooping head;
And show that love, however vain,
Nor thou nor I can feel again.
Yet how much less it were to gain,

Though thou hast left me free,
The loveliest things that still remain

Than thus remember thee !

The all of thine that cannot die
Through dark and dread Eternity

Returns again to me,
And more thy buried love endears
Than aught except its living years.

Lord Byron

CCXLVII

One word is too often profaned

For me to profane it,
One feeling too falsely disdain'd

For thee to disdain it.
One hope is too like despair

For prudence to smother,
And pity from thee more dear

Than that from another.

I can give not what men call love ;

But wilt thou accept not
The worship the heart lifts above

And the Heavens reject not:
The desire of the moth for the star,

Of the night for the morrow,
The devotion to something afar
From the sphere of our sorrow ?

P. B. Shelley

CCXLVIII

GATHERING SONG OF DONALD THE

BLACK

Pibroch of Donuil Dhu

Pibroch of Donuil
Wake thy wild voice anew,

Summon Clan Conuil.

Come away, come away,

Hark to the summons ! Come in your war-array,

Gentles and commons.

Come from deep glen, and

From mountain so rocky,
The war-pipe and pennon

Are at Inverlocky.
Come every hill-plaid, and

True heart that wears one,
Come every steel blade, and

Strong hand that bears one.

Leave untended the herd,

The flock without shelter ;
Leave the corpse uninterr'd,

The bride at the altar ;
Leave the deer, leave the steer,

Leave nets and barges :
Come with your fighting gear,

Broadswords and targes.
Come as the winds come, when

Forests are rended,
Come as the waves come, when

Navies are stranded :
Faster come, faster come,

Faster and faster,
Chief, vassal,

page
and

groom,
Tenant and master.
Fast they come, fast they come ;

See how they gather ! Wide waves the eagle plume

Blended with heather. Cast your plaids, draw your blades,

Forward each man set ! Pibroch of Donuil Dhu Knell for the onset !

Sir W. Scott

CCXLIX

A wet sheet and a flowing sea,

A wind that follows fast
And fills the white and rustling sail

And bends the gallant mast;
And bends the gallant mast, my boys,

While like the eagle free
Away the good ship flies, and leaves

Old England on the lee.

O for a soft and gentle wind !

I heard a fair one cry;
But give to me the snoring breeze

And white waves heaving high ;
And white waves heaving high, my lads,

The good ship tight and free-
The world of waters is our home,

And merry men are we.
There's tempest in yon hornéd moon,

And lightning in yon cloud ;
But hark the music, mariners !

The wind is piping loud ;
The wind is piping loud, my boys,

The lightning flashes free-
While the hollow oak our palace is,
Our heritage the sea.

1. Cunningham

ССІ.

Ye Mariners of England
That guard our native seas !
Whose flag has braved, a thousand years,
The battle and the breeze!
Your glorious standard launch again
To match another foe :

And sweep through the deep,
While the stormy winds do blow;
While the battle rages loud and long
And the stormy winds do blow.
The spirits of your fathers
Shall start from every wave-
For the deck it was their field of fame,
And Ocean was their grave :
Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell
Your manly hearts shall glow,
As ye sweep through the

deep,
While the stormy winds do blow;
While the battle rages loud and long
And the stormy winds do blow.

Britannia needs no bulwarks,
No towers along the steep ;
Her march is o'er the mountain-waves,
Her home is on the deep.
With thunders from her native oak
She quells the floods below-
As they roar on the shore,
When the stormy winds do blow;
When the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.

The meteor flag of England
Shall yet terrific burn;
Till danger's troubled night depart
And the star of peace return.
Then, then, ye ocean-warriors !
Our song and feast shall flow
To the fame of your name,
When the storm has ceased to blow ;
When the fiery fight is heard no more,
And the storm has ceased to blow.

T. Campbell