Sir Ralph the Rōver sail'd away,
He scour'd the seas for many a day;
And now grown rich with plunder'd stōre,
He steers his course for Scotland's shōre.

Sō thick a haze o'erspreads the sky
They cannot see the sun on high;
The wind hath blōwn a gāle âll day,
At evening it hath died away.

On the deck the Rōver takes hiș stand,
Sō därk it is they see nō land.

Quoth Sir Ralph, "It will be brighter soon,
For there is the dawn of the rising moon."

"Canst hear," said one, "the breaker's roar? For methinks we should be near the shōre." "Now where we are I cannot tell, But I wish I could hear the Inchcape Bell."

They hear no sound. the swell is strong; Though the wind hath fâllen they drift along, Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock,"Oh save us! 'tis the Inchcape Rock!"

Sir Ralph (pr. Rafe) the Rōver tōre his hair,
And curst himself in his despair;

The waves rusht in on every side,
The ship was sinking beneath the tīde;

But even in his dying fear

One dreadful sound could the Rōver hear,
A sound as if 'twere the Inchcape Bell,
Ringing below his dying knell.

JOHN BARLEYCORN.

Southey.

The following humorous poem by Robert Burns describes the growing of barley, and the various processes it goes through before it is converted into beer or spirits.

There went three kings into the east,
Three kings both great and high;
And they have sworn a solemn oath
John Bärleycorn shall die.

They took a plough and plough'd him down,

Püt clods upon his head;

And then they swōre a solemn oath,

John Bärleycorn was dead.

But the cheerful spring came kindly on,
And showers began to fâll;

John Bärleycorn got up again,
And sōre surprised them all.

The sultry suns of summer came,

And he grew thick and strong;

His head well ärm'd with pointed spears
That no one should him wrong.

The sober autumn enter'd mild
And he grew wan and pāle;
His bending joints and drooping head
Show'd he began to fail.

His color sicken'd mōre and mōre,

Hē faded into age;

And then his enemies began

To show their deadly rāge.

They've taken a weapon long and shärp,
And cut him by the knee;
Then tied him fast upon a cärt,

Like a rogue for fōrgery.

They laid him down upon his back,
And cudgell'd him füll sōre;
They hung him up before the storm,
And turn'd him o'er and ō'er.

They filled up a därksome pit,
With water to the brim ;
They heaved in John Bärleycorn,
There let him sink or swim.

They laid him out upon the floor,
To work him further woe;

And still as signs of life appear'd
They tost him to and frō.

They wasted ō'er a scorching fire
The marrow of his bōneṣ;

But a miller uṣed him worst of all,

For he crusht him between two stōnes.

And they have taken his very heart's blood,
And drunk it round and round;

And still the more, the more they drank,
Their joy did more abound.

John Bärleycorn was a hērō bōld

Of noble enterprise;

For if you do but taste his blood, "Twill make your courage rīṣe

'Twill make a man forget his woe, "Twill heighten âll his joy;

"Twill make the widow's heart to sing Though the tear were in her eye.

Then let us toast John Bärleycorn,
Each man a glass in hand;

And may his great posterity

Ne'er (pr. nare) fail in good Scotland,

Burns.

LORD LOVEL.

Lord Lovel he stood at his castle gate
Combing his milk-white steed,
When up came Lady Nancy Belle
To wish her lover good speed!

"Where are you going, Lord Lovel ?” shē said,
“Oh, where are you gōing?" said shē.—
"I'm going, my Lady Nancy Belle,
Strange countries for to see."

"When will you come back, Lord Lovel?” said shē,

"When will you come back to me ?”— "In a year, or two, or three at mōst, Then I will return to thee."

But he had not been gone a year and a day
Strange countries for to see,

When languishing thoughts came into his head,
Lady Nancy he would gō see.

Sō hē rōde and he rōde on his milk-white steed
Till he came to London Town,

And there he heard Saint Pancras Bells
And the people âll mourning round.

"Oh! what is the matter ?" Lord Lovel he said, "Oh! what is the matter ?" said hē—