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Winged from the rude rock's pinnacle ;
He reeled-he staggered-and he fell
Downward upon his LONA's breast,
And sunk to everlasting rest.
That moment, rolling mountain high
A billow broke across the bark,
And deep from every human eye

Engulphed them in its bosom dark.
The lightning flashed across the stream,
The nightbird rung its funeral scream,
The stranger shouted wild and shrill,
And echo answered from the hill;
But all was peaceful, calm, and still,
When morning dawned upon the tide
Where lay the EXILE and his BRIDE!

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Glenullin and Malvina.

Chiefs, who in times of old displayed
The lightning of their battle blade,
When Albion's watchfires streamed afar,
The signal-lights of death and war!
There too, the revel ever gave
Its cheerful welcome to the brave;
The festive board was often spread,
And the light dance with lively tread
Was measured by the young and fair,
Whom love and music gathered there.

'Twas then, before those happy days
O'er Avon ceased to shed their rays,
And while its halls stood high in air,
Nor mouldered to the ins there,
Malvina bloomed,-and every hour
That brightened o'er her woodbine bower,
Brought with it ever something new,
To charm the gentle maiden too;
But long she cherished in her breast,
A passion without hope or rest,
To her the sweetest, though the worst
A maiden bosom ever nursed;

Yet blame her not, for he, who drew
The vision o'er her, loved her too,
Loved with that pure and holy flame
That all through life still burns the same,
And, like the sunflower, ever turns
Still to its God, where'er he burns.
Oh! blame her not-the sighs that stole
In secret from her inmost soul,

The bloom that faded from her cheek,
Those weeping eyes-too well could speak
The withering passion, that had preyed
So long upon the lovely maid..

Soon as the beams of day were gone, And the lone hour of night came on, The hour that lovers always bless, So lovely is its loneliness, Glenullin ever crossed the lake, And found his loved one there awake; Found only her awake, and weeping, While all the world around was sleeping; Awake-to see the rippling tide Sparkle around his shallop's side, To hear the dipping of the oars, That waft him to her midnight shores,

Glenullin and Malvina.

And weeping-lest some ill-starr'd hour
Should keep him from her lonely bower,
Where every evening calm and sweet,
The happy pair were wont to meet,
To tell their passion o'er and o'er,
And seal the vows they pledged before.

One night-a stilly, lovely night, When all around seemed calm and bright, Glenullin steered his little skiff

O'er the smooth lake, from yonder cliff.
The moon was beaming in her pride,
And sparkled on the sleeping tide,
That, basking in the beam of night,
Gave mildly back the silvery light.-
Timpassioned souls, and weeping eyes,
How soothing are the evening skies,
How sweet their loneliness comes on,
When day's last lingering beam is gone!
How sweet to him, who, seated there,
Gives to the wind his raven hair,

And steering o'er the silent tide,
Still thinks upon his lovely bride!
Too dearly sweet! for while he thought
On the loved one, he heeded not
The clouds, that riding on the blast,
Veiled him in midnight as they passed;
The storm, that gathering on high,
Was sweeping o'er the troubled sky;
The Benshee flitting darkly by,
The harbinger of ruin nigh;
But onward mid the waters dark,
Still calm he steered his little bark,
Through the wild waves, unawed, unmoved,
Reckless of all but her he loved!
He thought not, that his struggling oar
Was ne'er to reach the distant shore,-
He thought not, that the surfy wave
Was soon to be his cheerless grave-
His winding-sheet, the whitening foam,
And the hushed wave his only tomb!

Oh! who can tell the weight of woe That crushed the maid, when he was lowHe, whom she cherished in her breast, Her soul's first idol, and its last! Oh! who can tell the withering pain, That burn'd upon her fevered brain,

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