THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS.

She struck where the white and fleecy waves
Looked soft as carded wool;

But the cruel rocks, they gored her side
Like the horns of an angry bull.

Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice,
With the masts went by the board;
Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank:
Ho! ho! the breakers roared!

At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach,
A fisherman stood aghast,

To see the form of a maiden fair,
Lashed close to a drifting mast.

The salt sea was frozen on her breast,
The salt tears in her eyes;

And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed,
On the billows fall and rise.

Such was the wreck of the Hesperus,
In the midnight and the snow.

Christ save us all from a death like this,

On the reef of Norman's Woe!

HENRY WADSWORTH Longfellow.

THOU HAST SWORN BY THY GOD, MY JEANIE.

THOU hast sworn by thy God, my Jeanie,
By that pretty white han' o' thine,
And by a' the lowing stars in heaven,
That thou wad aye be mine!

And I hae sworn by my God, my Jeanie,
And by that kind heart o' thine,
By a' the stars sown thick owre heaven,
That thou shalt aye be mine!

Then foul fa' the hands that wad loose sic bands,
And the heart that wad part sic luve!
But there's nae hand can loose my band,
But the finger o' Him abuve.

Though the wee, wee cot maun be my bield,
And my claithing ne'er sae mean,

I wad lap me up rich, i' the faulds o' luve,
Heaven's armfu' o' my Jean.

Her white arm wad be a pillow for me,
Fu' safter than the down;

And Luve wad winnow owre us his kind, kind wings,
And sweetly I'd sleep, and soun'.

Come here to me, thou lass o' my luve!

Come here and kneel wi' me!

WHERE SHALL THE LOVER REST.

The morn is fu' o' the presence o' God,

And I canna pray without thee.

The morn wind is sweet 'mang the beds o' new flowers, The wee birds sing kindlie and hie;

Our gudeman leans owre his kale-yard dyke,

And a blythe auld bodie is he.

The Beuk maun be ta'en whan the carle comes hame, Wi' the holie psalmodie;

And thou maun speak o' me to thy God,

And I will speak o' thee.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

WHERE SHALL THE LOVER REST.

WHERE shall the lover rest,

Whom the fates sever,

From his true maiden's breast

Parted forever?

Where, through groves deep and high,

Sounds the far billow,

Where early violets die,

Under the willow.

There, through the summer day,

Cool streams are laving;

There, while the tempests sway,

Scarce are boughs waving;

WHERE SHALL THE LOVER REST.

There thy rest shalt thou take,

Parted forever,

Never again to wake,

Never, O never!

Where shall the traitor rest,

He the deceiver,

Who could win maiden's breast,

Ruin and leave her?

In the lost battle,

Borne down by the flying, Where mingles war's rattle

With groans of the dying.

Her wing shall the eagle flap
O'er the false-hearted ;

His warm blood the wolf shall lap,

Ere life be parted. Shame and dishonor sit

By his grave ever! Blessing shall hallow it

Never, O never!

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

PASSING THY DOOR.

O! 'TWAS the world to me,

Life too and more!
Catching a glance of thee,
Passing thy door.
Faint as an autumn leaf,
Trembling to part:

So, in that moment brief,

Trembled my heart.

Nothing I saw but thee,

Nothing could find; Vision had fled from me,

Lingering behind.

How I had passed along,

How found my way, Sightless amidst the throng, Love could but say.

How I had moved my feet

I never knew ;

I had seen nothing, sweet,

Since I'd seen you.
O! 'twas the world to me,

Life too- - and more!
Catching a glance of thee,
Passing thy door.

CHARLES SWAIN.