Gorging and growling o'er carcass and limb; They were too busy to bark at him! From a Tartar's skull they had stripped the flesh, As ye peel the fig when its fruit is fresh ; And their white tusks crunched o'er the whiter skull, As it slipped through their jaws when their edge grew dull, As they lazily mumbled the bones of the dead, When they scarce could rise from the spot where they fed ; So well had they broken a lingering fast With those who had fallen for that night's repast. And Alp knew, by the turbans that rolled on the sand, The scalps were in the wild dog's maw, The hair was tangled round his jaw. But close by the shore, on the edge of the gulf, Who had stolen from the hills, but kept away, Alp turned him from the sickening sight: But he better could brook to behold the dying, Scorched with the death-thirst, and writhing in vain, And Honour's eye on daring deeds! But when all is past, it is humbling to tread And see worms of the earth, and fowls of the air, All regarding man as their prey, All rejoicing in his decay! BYRON. 6.-LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER. A CHIEFTAIN, to the Highlands bound, 'Now, who be ye would cross Loch-Gyle, "This dark and stormy water?" "O! I'm the chief of Ulva's Isle, "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, "6 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: By this the storm grew loud apace, The water-wraith was shrieking; But still as wilder blew the wind, The boat has left a stormy land, And still they rowed amidst the roar Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore. His wrath was changed to wailing. For sore dismayed, through storm and shade, One lovely hand she stretched 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 lashed the shore, The waters wild went o'er his child,- CAMPBELL. 7. THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE. NOT a drum was heard, not a funeral-note, No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet or in shroud we wound him, But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him. Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow; We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed, And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, But half of our heavy task was done, When the clock struck the hour for retiring; And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing. Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone But we left him alone with his glory. WOLFE. 8. THE MARINER'S DREAM. In slumbers of midnight the Sailor boy lay, His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind; But, watch-worn and weary, his cares flew away, And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind. He dreamed of his home, of his dear native bowers, Then Fancy her magical pinions spread wide, The jessamine clambers in flower o'er the thatch, A father bends o'er him with looks of delight, His cheek is impearled with a mother's warm tear; And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss unite With the lips of the maid whom his bosom holds dear. The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast, Ah! whence is that flame which now bursts on his eye? He springs from his hammock-he flies to the deck; In vain the lost wretch calls on mercy to save ;- And the Death-Angel flaps his broad wings o'er the wave. Oh, Sailor boy! wo to thy dream of delight! In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss ;Where now is the picture that Fancy touched bright, Thy parent's fond pressure, and love's honeyed kiss? Oh! Sailor boy! Sailor boy! never again Shall home, love, or kindred, thy wishes repay; Unblessed and unhonoured, down deep in the main Full many a score fathom thy frame shall decay. No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee, Or redeem form or frame from the merciless surge; But the white foam of waves shall thy winding-sheet be, And winds in the midnight of winter thy dirge. On beds of green sea-flower thy limbs shall be laid, Around thy white bones the red coral shall grow; Of thy fair yellow locks threads of amber be made, And every part suit to thy mansion below. Days, months, years, and ages, shall circle away, And still the vast waters above thee shall roll; Earth loses thy pattern for ever and aye— Oh, Sailor boy! Sailor boy! peace to thy soul! 9.-MARY, THE MAID OF THE INN. DIMOND. WHO is she, the poor Maniac, whose wildly-fixed eyes She weeps not, yet often and deeply she sighs; No aid, no compassion the maniac will seek, Through her rags do the winds of the winter blow bleak |