The boat has left a stormy land, When, oh! too strong for human hand, And still they row'd amidst the roar Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore, For sore dismay'd, through storm and shade, One lovely hand she stretch'd 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,- 'Twas vain the loud waves lash'd the shore, The waters wild went o'er his child, And he was left lamenting. THOMAS CAMPBELL. THE PRINCESS OF SANTA CROCE. WAILING winds were round the castle, Sleepless lay she until dawn, And the pale light found her paler Sigismund, her only brother, Drew in dungeon keep his breath; He to holy Church a rebel, By the Pope was doom'd to death. There, in bed of velvet cradled Many a forest, many a mountain, From St Angel's dark recesses, Power to bless, and power to bau. 'Tis a princess kneels before him, Kneels to ask a brother's life, But his cold, averted visage Cuts her like a two-edged knife. "Paul Donati, Paul Donati! She who had that stone of thee Knew thee not as Pope or Kaiser, Was thy playmate frank and free; "Often 'neath her father's castle Has she roam'd with thee uncheck'dThou, the chaplain and the tutor, Taught her more than cold respect. "Twelve long years, O Paul Donati, Twelve long years have flown since then; She has kept her father's castle, Thou hast set thy foot on men. "On the last night ere you left her, Then from out her heaving bosom, Suddenly his brow grew scarlet, Suddenly his eye flash'd light"Is she dead who was possessor Of that ocean stalactite?" "By this token, by that symbol, For a moment in the silence You might hear his pulse's beat, See his hand shake like an aspen As he raised her from his feet. "Leonore ! the past is over; HENRY GLASSFORD BELL. LULLABY TO THE SOLDIER'S CHILD. (From the Harp of the Valley). HUSH, my baby, lie thou still, Nor dream of what thou art, The sire you never saw,— Who, like thee, has gone to rest— The noblest e'er clasp'd woman They say we've gain'd a victory Oh, it may be, little darling, But thy father is no more. The sable clouds sail'd heavenward, And red the morning sun Stream'd on the far-extending ranks, On bayonet and on gun, And glared, hot and horrific, And fierce the whole day long, While tugg'd and toil'd, mid dust and blood, The fearless and the strong. I stood upon the hill and saw But aye one half of the red wave And where flash'd the dripping sword, And where thundered shot and shell, So I laid thee down, my baby, Upon the grassy knowe, And shed the clotted locks of hair Back from thy father's brow. And flung my arms around his neck, |