Out-spouting came the purple stream,
And all his tartans dyed.

But yet his hand not dropp'd the sword, Nor sunk he to the ground,

Till through his enemy's heart his steel Had forc'd a mortal wound.

Graeme, like a tree by winds o'erthrown,
Fell breathless on the clay;

And down beside him sunk the Ross,
And faint and dying lay.

Matilda saw,

and fast she ran :

"O spare his life," she cried;

"Lord Buchan's daughter begs his life, Let her not be denied."

Her well-known voice the hero heard ;
He rais'd his death-clos'd eyes;
He fix'd them on the weeping maid,
And weakly thus replies:

"In vain Matilda begs a life

By death's arrest denied ;

My race is run-adieu, my love!"
Then clos'd his eyes, and died.

The sword yet warm from his left side,
With frantic hand she drew :

"I come, Sir James the Ross," she cried, "I come to follow you."

66

The hilt she lean'd against the ground,

And bar'd her snowy breast;

Then fell upon her lover's face,
And sunk to endless rest.

THE FISHERMAN'S SAIL.*

ΚΝΟΧ.

As the fisherman sat, at the close of the day,
Aboard of his boat in a creek of the bay,
Amending his net, and enjoying anew

The numerous draught which at morning he drew;
The moorings were broke by a sweep of the gale,
And away and away went the fisherman's sail.

He look'd for the canvass, he look'd for the oar; He look'd all in vain-they were both on the shore; He look'd to the beach, where his wife in her grief Was holding her hands up to Heaven for relief; He caught on the breezes the voice of her wail, As away and away went the fisherman's sail.

How fearful to him was that wearisome night,
'Mid the sea in its rage, and the storm in its might!
How often he thought, 'mid the wind and the rain,
Of the children and spouse he should not see again!
He wept; but his tears were of little avail-
For away and away went the fisherman's sail.

At morning he gaz'd on a desolate scene
Of turbulent waters, all pathless and green;
He look'd to the south, and he look'd to the north,
But no sun-ray of hope 'mid the tempest came
forth:

He tried if a prayer might with Heaven prevail-
But away and away went the fisherman's sail.

*This beautiful Ballad was never before printed.-Ed.

Three days and three nights o'er the fathomless

seas,

As light as a leaf that is blown by the breeze,
In spite of the hunger that gnaw'd at his heart,
In spite of the tear-drop that often would start,
In spite of the prayer that was breath'd without
fail-

Away and away went the fisherman's sail.

At morning the fourth, by the light of its star,
A bark steer'd along the horizon afar :
His bosom reviv'd with the flutter of hope,
His cheek too was wet with an exquisite drop;
But she soon disappear'd without hearing his hail-
And away and away went the fisherman's sail.

At morning the fifth, he seem'd drifting away
To a desolate island, all rocky and grey;
O God! it were sweet there to live and to die,
Though no mortal were near, though no creature
were nigh!

He near'dit-he pass'd-for his efforts were frail-
And away and away went the fisherman's sail.

At last, like an arrow just shot from the bow,
To that region of darkness, and iceberg, and snow,
Where the polar night slumbers for months on the
main,

Where no mortal could ever behold him again, Where his bones should repose with the bear and the whale

Away and away went the fisherman's sail.

F 3

JOHN GILPIN.

COWPER.

JOHN GILFIN was a citizen
Of credit and renown,
A train-band captain eke was he
Of famous London town.

John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear"Though wedded we have been These twice ten tedious years, yet we No holiday have seen.

"To morrow is our wedding-day, And we will then repair

Unto the Bell at Edmonton,

All in a chaise and pair.

"My sister and my sister's child,
Myself and children three,
Will fill the chaise; so you must ride
On horseback after we."

He soon replied-" I do admire
Of woman-kind but one,
And you are she, my dearest dear,
Therefore it shall be done.

I am a linen-draper bold,

As all the world doth know;
And my good friend, Tom Callender,
Will lend his horse to go."

Quoth Mrs Gilpin-" That's well said;
And, for that wine is dear,
We will be furnish'd with our own,
Which is both bright and clear."

John Gilpin kiss'd his loving wife;
O'erjoy'd was he to find,

That though on pleasure she was bent,
She had a frugal mind.

The morning came, the chaise was brought, But yet was not allow'd

To drive up to the door, lest all

Should say that she was proud.

So three doors off the chaise was staid,
Where they did all get in;

Six precious souls! and all agog

To dash through thick and thin.

Smack went the whip, round went the wheels,
Were never folks so glad;
The stones did rattle underneath,

As if Cheapside were mad.

John Gilpin at his horse's side
Seiz'd fast the flowing mane,
And up he got in haste to ride,
But soon came down again.

For saddle-tree scarce reach'd had he,
His journey to begin,

When, turning round his head, he saw
Three customers come in.

So down he came; for loss of time,
Although it griev'd him sore,