CLEVELAND sings:

LOVE wakes and weeps
While Beauty sleeps!

O for Music's softest numbers,
To prompt a theme,
For Beauty's dream,
Soft as the pillow of her slumbers!

Through groves of palm
Sigh gales of balm,
Fire-flies on the air are wheeling;
While through the gloom
Comes soft perfume,

The distant beds of flowers revealing.

O wake and live!

No dream can give

A shadow'd bliss, the real excelling;

No longer sleep, From lattice peep, And list the tale that Love is telling.

FAREWELL! Farewell! the voice you hear

Has left its last soft tone with you; Its next must join the seaward cheer, And shout among the shoutingcrew.

The accents which I scarce could form Beneath your frown's controlling check,

Must give the word, above the storm, To cut the mast, and clear the wreck.

The timid eye I dared not raise,

The hand, that shook when press'd to thine,

Must point the guns upon the chaseMust bid the deadly cutlass shine.

To all I love, or hope, or fear,

Honour, or own, a long adieu ! To all that life has soft and dear,

Farewell! save memory of you!

CLAUD HALCRO sings or recites :AND you shall deal the funeral dole; Ay, deal it, mother mine, To weary body, and to heavy soul, The white bread and the wine.

And you shall deal my horses of pride;

Ay, deal them, mother mine:
And you shall deal my lands so wide,
And deal my castles nine.

But deal not vengeance for the deed,
And deal not for the crime;
The body to its place, and the soul to
Heaven's grace,

And the rest in God's own time.

SAINT Magnus control thee, that martyr of treason;

Saint Ronan rebuke thee, with rhyme and with reason;

By the mass of Saint Martin, the might of Saint Mary,

Be thou gone, or thy weird shall be worse if thou tarry!

Ifofgood, go hence and hallow thee;If of ill, let the earth swallow thee;If thou 'rt of air, let the grey mist fold thee;

If of earth, let the swart mine hold thee;

If a Pixie, seek thy ring;-
If a Nixie, seek thy spring;-
If on middle earth thou 'st been
Slave of sorrow, shame, and sin,
Hast eat the bread of toil and strife,
And dree'd the lot which men call life;
Begone to thy stone! for thy coffin is

scant of thee,

The worm, thy play-fellow, wails for the want of thee:

Hence, houseless ghost! let the earth hide thee,

Till Michael shall blow the blast, see that there thou bide thee!

for a token,

NORNA sings or recites :CHAMPION, famed for warlike toil, Art thou silent, Ribolt Troil? Sand, and dust, and pebbly stones, Are leaving bare thy giant bones. Who dared touch the wild bear's skin Ye slumber'd on, while life was in? A woman now, or babe, may come And cast the covering from thy tomb.

Yet be not wrathful, Chief, nor blight Mine eyes or ears with sound or sight! I come not, with unhallow'd tread, To wake the slumbers of the dead, Or lay thy giant reliques bare;

But what I seek thou well canst spare. Be it to my hand allow'd

When point and edge were glittering

near;

See, the cerements now I sever-
Waken now, or sleep for ever!
Thou wilt not wake-the deed is done!
The prize I sought is fairly won.

Thanks, Ribolt, thanks; for this the

sea

Shall smooth its ruffled crest for thee, And while afar its billows foam, Subside to peace near Ribolt's tomb. Thanks, Ribolt, thanks; for this the might

Of wild winds raging at their height,
When to thy place of slumber nigh,
Shall soften to a lullaby.

She, the dame of doubt and dread,
Norna of the Fitful-head,
Mighty in her own despite,
Miserable in her might,
In despair and frenzy great,
In her greatness desolate,
Wisest, wickedest who lives,—
Well can keep the word she gives.
Chap. xxv.

NORNA recites :--

THOU, SO needful, yet so dread,
With cloudy crest, and wing of red;
Thou, without whose genial breath
The North would sleep the sleep of
death;

Who deign'st to warm the cottage hearth,

Yet hurls proud palaces to earth,

shroud;

Yet leave thee sheeted lead enough

To shield thy bones from weather rough.

Which form and rule this world of

ours,

With my rhyme of Runic, I Thank thee for thy agency

Old Reimkennar, to thy art Mother Hertha sends her part; She, whose gracious bounty gives Needful food for all that lives. From the deep mine of the North Came the mystic metal forth, Doom'd amidst disjointed stones, Long to cere a champion's bones, Disinhumed my charms to aidMother Earth, my thanks are paid.

Girdle of our islands dear,
Element of Water, hear!
Thou whose power can overwhelm
Broken mounds and ruin'd realm

On the lowly Belgian strand;
All thy fiercest rage can never
Of our soil a furlong sever

From our rock-defended land; Play then gently thou thy part, To assist old Norna's art.

Elements, each other greeting,
Gifts and power attend your meeting.

Thou, that over billows dark
Safely send'st the fisher's bark,
Giving him a path and motion
Through the wilderness of ocean;
Thou, that when the billows brave ye,
O'er the shelves canst drive the navy,—
Didst thou chafe as one neglected,
While thy brethren were respected?
To appease thee, see, I tear
This full grasp of grizzled hair;
Oft thy breath hath through it sung,
Softening to my magic tongue;
Now, 'tis thine to bid it fly
Through the wide expanse of sky,
'Mid the countless swarms to sail
Of wild-fowl wheeling on thy gale;
Take thy portion and rejoice,-
Spirit, thou hast heard my voice!

She who sits by haunted well, Is subject to the Nixie's spell;

She who walks on lonely beach,
To the Mermaid's charmed speech;
She who walks round ring of green,
Offends the peevish Fairy Queen;
And she who takes rest in the Dwar
fie's cave,

A weary weird of woe shall have.

By ring, by spring, by cave, by shore, Minna Troil has braved all this and more;

And yet hath the root of her sorrow and ill,

A source that's more deep and more mystical still.

Thou art within a demon's hold,
More wise than Heims, more strong
than Trolld;

No siren sings so sweet as he,
No fay springs lighter on the lea;
No elfin power hath half the art
To soothe, to move, to wring the
heart,―

Life-blood from the cheek to drain,
Drench the eye, and dry the vein.
Maiden, ere we farther go,
Dost thou note me, ay or no!

MINNA.

I mark thee, my mother, both word, look, and sign;

Speak on with thy riddle-to read it be mine.

NORNA.

Mark me! for the word I speak
Shall bring the colour to thy cheek.
This leaden heart, so light of cost,
The symbol of a treasure lost,
Thou shalt wear in hope and in peace,
That the cause of thy sickness and
sorrow may cease,
When crimson foot meets crimson
hand

In the Martyr's Aisle, and in Orkney land.

Be patient, be patient; for Patience hath power

To ward us in danger, like mantle in

shower;

A fairy gift you best may hold

In a chain of fairy gold;

forest,

THE PEDLAR sings his wares :—

Poor sinners whom the snake deceives,

Are fain to cover them with leaves.
Zetland hath no leaves, 'tis true,
Because that trees are none, or few;
But we have flax and taits of woo',
For linen cloth and wadmaal blue;
And we have many foreign knacks
Of finer waft, than woo' or flax.
Ye gallant Lambmas lads appear,
And bring your Lambmas sisters here,
Bryce Snailsfoot spares not cost or
care,

To pleasure every gentle pair.
Chap. XXXII.

be soft,

I'd rather hear that widow weep and sigh,

And tell the virtues of the dear departed, Than, when the tempest sends his voice abroad,

Be subject to its fury.

Chap. II.

nor move,

D d 3

WHAT ho, my jovial mates! come on! we'll frolic it

Like fairies frisking in the merry moonshine,

Seen by the curtal friar, who, from some christening,

Or some blithe bridal, hies belated cell-ward ;

He starts, and changes his bold bottle swagger

To churchman's pace professional, and, ransacking

His treacherous memory for some holy hymn,

Finds but the roundel of the midnight catch. Old Play.

Chap. xxx.

ISTRIVE like to the vessel in the tideway, Which, lacking favouring brecze, hath not the power

To stem the powerful current. Even

So,

Resolving daily to forsake my vices, Habit, strong circumstance, renew'd temptation,

Sweep me to sea again. O heavenly breath,

Fill thou my sails, and aid the feeble vessel,

Which ne'er can reach the blessed port without thee!

'Tis Odds when Evens meet.

Chap. XXXII.

PARENTAL love, my friend, has power o'er wisdom,

my friend;

Yet, in her madness, hath the art and

cunning

falconer's lure,

Can bring from heaven the highest soaring spirits.

Chap. XXIX.

Old Play.

when famed Prosper doff'd his magic robe,

was Miranda pluck'd it from his shoulders, Old Play.

Chap. XXXIII.