CHARLES KINGSLEY. Born 1819. Died 1875. THE SANDS OF DEE. 'MARY, go and call the cattle home, And call the cattle home, And call the cattle home, Across the sands o' Dee;' The western wind was wild and dank wi' foam, And all alone went she. The creeping tide crept up along the sand, And o'er and o'er the sand, And round and round the sand, As far as eye could see. The blinding mist came down, and hid the landAnd never home came she. 'Oh! is it weed, or fish, or floating hair A tress o' golden hair, O' drowned maiden's hair, Above the nets at sea? Was never salmon yet that shone so fair Among the stakes on Dee.' They rowed her in across the rolling foam, The cruel, crawling foam, The cruel, hungry foam, To her grave beside the sea : But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home MY A FAREWEll. Y fairest child, I have no song to give you ; For every day. I'll teach you how to sing a clearer carol Than lark's, who hails the dawn o'er breezy down, Than Shakespeare's crown. Be good, sweet maid, and let who can be clever ; LORRAINE. ARE you ready for your steeple-chase, Lorraine, Lorraine, Lorrèe? Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Baree. You're booked to ride your capping race to-day at Coulterlee, She clasped her new-born baby, poor Lorraine, Lorraine, Lorrèe, Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Baree. 'I cannot ride Vindictive, as any man might see, And I will not ride Vindictive, with this baby on my knee, He's killed a boy, he's killed a man, and why should he kill me?' 'Unless you ride Vindictive, Lorraine, Lorraine, Lorrèe, Unless you ride Vindictive, to-day at Coulterlee, And land him safe across the brook, and win the blank for me, It's you may keep your baby, for you'll get no keep from me.' 'That husbands could be cruel,' said Lorraine Lorraine, Lorrèe, 'That husbands could be cruel, I have known for seasons three ; But oh! to ride Vindictive, while a baby cries for me, And be killed across a fence at last for all the world to see!' She mastered young Vindictive,-oh! the gallant lass was she! And kept him straight, and won the race, as near as near could be; But he killed her at the brook against a pollard willow tree, see, And no one but the baby cried for poor Lorraine, Lorrèe. Minor Poets. HENRY KIRKE WHITE. Born 1785. Died 1806. Μι TO AN EARLY PRIMROSE. ILD offspring of a dark and sullen sire! Was nursed in whirling storms, And cradled in the winds. Thee, when young Spring first questioned Winter's sway, And dared the sturdy blusterer to the fight, Thee on this bank he threw To mark his victory. In this low vale, the promise of the year, Thy tender elegance. So virtue blooms, brought forth amid the storms Of life she rears her head, Obscure and unobserved; While every bleaching breeze that on her blows, And hardens her to bear Serene the ills of life. CHARLES WOLFE. Born 1791. Died 1823. THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE. OT a drum was heard, not a funeral note, NOT As his corse to the rampart we hurried; We buried him darkly at dead of night, No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him: Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow; But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead, And we bitterly thought of the morrow. 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, And we far away on the billow! Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, |