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LORD EDWARD.

LORD EDWARD.

SLOWLY 'gainst Lord Edward's shore
Did the flowing surges sweep.
"Mary, rise; the night is o'er :

Rise, my Mary, rise from sleep :
See, the vessel lies at bay,
Waiting since the dawn of day!

"Haste, my baby boy, O haste;

Tie this scarf around your neck;
Bind this riband round your waist;
Hasten, hasten to the deck.
See, the busy crew all wait,
With the favouring breeze elate!"

Cover'd o'er with briny foam,

Now the vessel leaves the bourn:
Lo! she leaves her tranquil home,
Never never to return!

For a cold and watery grave
Lies conceal'd in yonder wave!

Six long days they plough'd the main

Six long days I think were past-
Fiercely did the wind and rain

Beat against the bending mast;
While the darken'd foaming tide
Dash'd against the vessel's side.

Now no sun, or moon, or star,
Lit the gloomy hemisphere,
And a storm was heard afar,
Muttering in the darken'd' air;
While the angry billows high
Seem to meet the frowning sky.

Now the shriek of wild despair;
Now the furious tempest howls;
Now the treacherous rocks appear;-
Save, O, save their precious souls,

O God! They're gone! down, down they go! Night of horror! night of woe!

Now upon a flinty rock

Stood Lord Edward, quite alone: He surviv'd the cruel shock,

But the two he lov'd were gone ;

Mary, Henry, both are dead,
In their cold and watery bed!

Now a dreadful wave approach'd
Slowly towards the rocky steep;
Now it to his feet encroach'd;

Now it hurls him in the deep!

And now, low laid, 'mid ocean's roar,
Lord Edward, thou shalt rise no more!

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89

THE LITTLE MILL.

THE LITTLE MILL.

By the little village bridge,
With its small but useful arch,
There, amid the rushy sedge,
Grows a fine old leafy larch—

Which with spreading shelter throws
Shadows o'er the little mill,
When the evening, solemn, close,
Spreads its pale tints o'er the hill.

And this little busy mill

Click-clack goes from morn till night,
Whirling through the purling rill,
Dashing up the spray so white.

Thrown across, plac'd there for use,
O'er the stream, a pliant board,
Just below the noisy sluice,

Forms a bridge across the ford.

And each evening, when the sun
Gilds the clouds with crimson edge,

Bonny Will is sure to come,

Tripping o'er this little bridge.

"And what brings you, bonny Will,
With your pretty basket neat,

Every evening, to this mill,

Begging for a little wheat?"

"Just to get a little food

For my pretty pigeon doat,
I have cross'd the dreary wood,
Lowland vale, and highland moat.

"Such a darling little bird, Plumage all of snowy white, Good old man, upon my word,

It would give you such delight!"

"Welcome, welcome, Master Will," Says the old and civil man ;

"Come each evening to the mill;

Take as much as e'er you can."

FREDERICK'S SENSIBILITY ON
LEAVING HOME.

THE roof of the cot where my childhood was spent Appear'd o'er the trees in the glen;

And I thought, sadly thought, as I linger'd and

went,

I never should see it again.

68

FREDERICK'S SENSIBILITY.

The lawn where so often I sportively play'd
Quite plainly appear'd to my view;

And my dear mother's favourite sycamore glade,
And my grandfather's favourite yew.

And the neat white-wash'd walls all around the dear cot,

And the boat, and the soft-flowing lake:

Oh, I thought, 'pon my word, now, I really thought, That I'd die, and my heartstrings would break!

And Oh! above all, my sweet mother so dear
Was plac'd in the window above;

Her hands clasp'd quite closely, while many a tear
Fell sadly in sorrow and love.

And as in much anguish I saunter'd along,
My heart fraught with heaviest woe,
Jane, William, and Lucy, and Julia, and John,
Appear'd in the window below.

And only just think of my poor old dog Tray,
Who follow'd me close o'er the bourn;
But old Peter came out, and call'd him away,
Though he bark'd, and refus'd to return.

I turn'd, and I gaz'd, and I wept, and felt not
The wind, which blew chilling and bleak;
For I thought, 'pon my word, now, I really thought,
That I'd die, and my heartstrings would break.