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In that day of desolation,

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Lady, I was captive made;
Bleeding for my Christian nation,
By the walls of high Belgrade.'
• Captive! could the brightest jewel
From my turban set thee free ?—
Lady, no!-The gift were cruel,
'Ransom'd, yet if reft of thee.

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Say, fair princess! would it grieve thee
Christian climes should we behold?—
Nay, bold knight! I would not leave thee
Were thy ransom paid in gold!'

Now in Heaven's blue expansion

Rose the midnight star to view,
When to quit her father's mansion,

Thrice she wept, and bade adieu!
· Fly we then, while none discover!
Tyrant barks, in vain ye ride!'
Soon at Rhodes the British lover

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Clasp'd his blooming eastern bride. Campbell.

52.-A Ship Sinking.

HER giant-form,
O'ER wrathful surge, through blackening storm,
Majestically calm, would go
Mid the deep darkness white as snow!
But gently now the small waves glide
Like playful lambs o'er a mountain's side.
So stately her bearing, so proud her array,
The main she will traverse for ever and aye.
Many ports will exult at the gleam of her mast!

-Hush! hush! thou vain dreamer! this hour is
her last.

Five hundred souls in one instant of dread
Are hurried o'er the deck;
And fast the miserable ship
Becomes a lifeless wreck.

Her keel hath struck on a hidden rock,

Her planks are torn asunder,

And down come her masts with a reeling shock,
And a hideous crash like thunder.

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Her sails are draggled in the brine

That gladdened late the skies,

And her pendant that kiss'd the fair moonshine
Down many a fathom lies.

Her beauteous sides, whose rainbow hues
Gleam'd softly from below,
And flung a warm and sunny flash
O'er the wreaths of murmuring snow,
To the coral rocks are hurrying down
To sleep amid colours as bright as their own.
Oh! many a dream was in the ship
An hour before her death;

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And sights of home with sighs disturb'd
The sleepers' long-drawn breath.
Instead of the murmur of the sea
The sailor heard the humming tree
Alive through all its leaves,
The hum of the spreading sycamore
That grows before his cottage-door,
And the swallow's song in the eaves.
His arms inclosed a blooming boy,
Who listen'd with tears of sorrow and joy
To the dangers his father had pass'd;
And his wifeby turns she wept and smil'd,
As she look'd on the father of her child
Return'd to her heart at last,

He wakes at the vessel's sudden roll,
And the rush of waters is in his soul.-
Now is the ocean's bosom bare,
Unbroken as the floating air;
The ship hath melted quite away,
Like a struggling dream at break of day.
No image meets my wandering eye
But the new-risen sun, and the sunny sky.
Though the night-shades are gone, yet a vapour
Bedims the waves so beautiful;
While a low and melancholy moan
Mourns for the glory that hath flown.

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Wilson.

53.-Battle of the Baltic.

OF Nelson and the North
Sing the glorious day's renown,
When to battle fierce came forth
All the might of Denmark's crown,
And her arms along the deep proudly shone';
By each gun the lighted brand

In a bold determined hand,

And the Prince of all the land
Led them on.-

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Like leviathans afloat,

Lay their bulwarks on the brine;
While the sign of battle flew
On the lofty British line:

It was ten of April morn by the chime:
As they drifted on their path,
There was silence deep as death;
And the boldest held his breath
For a time.-

But the might of England flush'd
To anticipate the scene;

And her van the fleeter rush'd

O'er the deadly space between.

• Hearts of oak,' our captains cried! when each gun From its adamantine lips

Spread a death-shade round the ships,
Like the hurricane eclipse
Of the sun..

Again! again! again!
And the havock did not slack,
Till a feeble cheer the Dane

To our cheering sent us back ;-
Their shots along the deep slowly boom:-
Then ceas'd-and all is wail,

As they strike the shatter'd sail;

Or, in conflagration pale,
Light the gloom.—

Out spoke the victor then,
As he hail'd them o'er the wave,
Ye are brothers! ye are men!
And we conquer but to save:—
So peace instead of death let us bring.
But yield, proud foe, thy fleet,
• With the crews, at England's feet,
And make submission meet
To our king.'-

Then Denmark blest our chief,
That he gave her wounds repose;
And the sounds of joy and grief,
From her people wildly rose;
As Death withdrew his shades from the day.
While the sun look'd smiling bright

O'er a wide and woeful sight,
Where the fires of fun'ral light
Died away.

Now joy, Old England, raise!
For the tidings of thy might,
By the festal cities' blaze,
While the wine cup shines in light;
And yet amidst that joy and uproar,
Let us think of them that sleep,
Full many a fathom deep,
By thy wild and stormy steep,
Elsinore !-

Brave hearts! to Britain's pride
Once so faithful and so true,
On the deck of fame that died,-

With the gallant good Riou:

Soft sigh the winds of heaven o'er their grave!
While the billow mournful rolls,
And the mermaid's song condoles,
Singing glory to the souls
Of the brave!-

Campbell.

54.-The Fate of Macgregor.

"MACGREGOR, Macgregor, remember our foemen ; The moon rises broad from the brow of Ben-Lomond; The clans are impatient, and chide thy delay; Arise! let us bound to Glen-Lyon away."

Stern scowled the Macgregor, then silent and sullen, He turn'd his red eye to the braes of Strathfillan; "Go, Malcolm, to sleep, let the clans be dismissed; The Campbells this night for Macgregor must rest."

"Macgregor, Macgregor, our scouts have been flying, Three days, round the hills of M'Nab and Glen-Lyon; Of riding and running such tidings they bear, We must meet them at home else they'll quickly be

here.".

"The Campbell may come, as his promises bind him, And haughty M'Nab, with his giants behind him; This night I am bound to relinquish the fray, And do what it freezes my vitals to say. Forgive me, dear brother, this horror of mind; Thou knowest in the strife I was never behind, Nor ever receded a foot from the van, Or blenched at the ire or the prowess of man. But I've sworn by the cross, by my God, and by all! An oath which I cannot, and dare not recal,Ere the shadows of midnight fall east from the pile, To meet with a spirit this night in Glen-Gyle.

"Last night, in my chamber, all thoughtful and lone, I called to remembrance some deeds I had done, When entered a lady, with visage so wan, And looks, such as never were fastened on man. I knew her, O brother! I knew her full well! Of that once fair dame such a tale I could tell would thrill thy bold heart; but how long she remained,

So racked was my spirit, my bosom so pained,
I knew not-but ages seemed short to the while.
Though proffer the Highlands, nay, all the green isle,

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