THE SAILOR'S JOURNAL.

'Twas post-meridian, half-past four,

By signal I from Nancy parted;
At six she linger'd on the shore,

With uplift hands and broken-hearted.
At seven, while taughtening the fore-stay,
I saw her faint, or else 'twas fancy;
At eight we all got under weigh,

And bade a long adieu to Nancy!

Night came, and now eight bells had rung,
While careless sailors, ever cheery,
On the mid-watch so jovial sung,

With tempers labour cannot weary.

I, little to their mirth inclined,

While tender thoughts rush'd on my fancy,

And my warm sighs increased the wind, Look'd on the moon, and thought of Nancy!

And now arrived that jovial night,

When every true-bred tar carouses; When, o'er the grog, all hands delight

To toast their sweethearts and their spouses. Round went the can, the jest, the glee,

While tender wishes fill'd each fancy;

And when, in turn, it came to me,

I heaved a sigh, and toasted Nancy!

sailors more

Headlong within the foaming ocean.

Poor wretches! they soon found their graves;

For me--it may be only fancy,

But Love seem'd to forbid the waves

To snatch me from the arms of Nancy!

THE SAILOR'S JOURNAL.

Scarce the foul hurricane was clear'd,

Scarce winds and waves had ceased to rattle,

When a bold enemy appear'd,

And, dauntless, we prepared for battle.. And now, while some loved friend or wife Like lightning rush'd on every fancy,

To Providence I trusted life,

Put up a prayer, and thought of Nancy!

At last, 'twas in the month of May.-
The crew, it being lovely weather,

At three A.M. discover'd day,

And England's chalky cliffs together.

At seven, up channel how we bore,

While hopes and fears rush'd on my fancy;

At twelve I gaily jump'd ashore,

And to my throbbing heart press'd Nancy!

LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.

A 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,

66

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:

LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.

And by my word! the bonny bird

In danger shall not tarry:

So, though the waves are raging white,
I'll row you o'er the ferry."

By this the storm grew loud арасе,
The water-wraith was shrieking;
And in the scowl of heav'n each face
Grew dark as they were speaking.

But still, as wilder blew the wind,
And as the night grew drearer,
Adown the glen rode armed men,
Their trampling sounded nearer.-

"O haste thee, haste!" the lady cries,
"Though tempests round us gather;
I'll meet the raging of the skies,
But not an angry father."

The boat has left a stormy land,

A stormy sea before her,

When, oh! too strong for human hand,

The tempest gather'd o'er her.

And still they row'd, amidst the roar
Of waters fast prevailing:

Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore,

His wrath was changed to wailing.

For sore dismay'd, through storm and shade,

His child he did discover:

One lovely hand she stretch'd for aid,

And one was round her lover.