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DIEU, adieu ! my native shore

Fades o'er the waters blue;
The night winds sigh, the breakers roar,

And shrieks the wild sea-mew.
Yon sun that sets upon the sea

We follow his flight; Farewell awhile to him and thee,

My native land-good night.

A few short hours and he will rise

To give the morrow birth :
And I shall hail the main and skies,

But not my mother earth.
Deserted is my own good hall,

Its hearth is desolate;
Wild weeds are gathering on the wall;

My dog howls at the gate.


“Come hither, hither, my

little Why dost thou weep and wail ? Or dost thou dread the billow's rage

Or tremble at the gale ?
But dash the tear-drop from thine eye ;

Our ship is swift and strong;
Our fleetest falcon scarce can fly

More merrily along.”

“ Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high,

I fear not wave nor wind:
Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that I

Am sorrowful in mind;

For I have from my father gone,

A mother whom I love,
And have no friend save thee alone,

But thee and one above.

“ My father bless’d me fervently,

Yet did not much complain; But sorely will my mother sigh

Till I come back again.” Enough, enough, my little lad!

Such tears become thine eye, If I thy guileless bosom had

Mine own would not be dry.” “ Come hither, hither, my staunch yeoman,

Why dost thou look so pale ?
Or dost thou dread a French foeman

Or shiver at the gale?”
“ Deem'st thou I tremble for my

life? Sir Childe, I'm not so weak; But thinking on an absent wife

Will blanch a faithful cheek,

My spouse and boys dwell near thy hall,

Along the bordering lake,
And when they on their father call

What answer shall she make?”
“ Enough, enough, my yeoman good,

Thy grief let none gainsay; But I, who am of lighter mood,

Will laugh to flee away.
“ For who would trust the seeming sighs

Of wife or paramour ?
Fresh feres will dry the bright blue eyes

We late saw streaming o'er.

For pleasures past I do not grieve,

Nor perils gathering near;
My greatest grief is that I leave

No thing that claims a tear.

And now I'm in the world alone,

Upon the wide, wide sea,
But why should I for others groan

When none will sigh for me?
Perchance my dog will whine in vain

Till fed by stranger hands,
But long 'ere I come back again

He'd tear me where he stands.

“ With thee, my bark, I'll swiftly go

Athwart the foaming brine;
Nor care what land thou bear'st me to,

So not again to mine.
Welcome, welcome, ye dark blue waves !
And when


my sight,
Welcome, ye deserts, and ye caves !

My native land-good night !”


WHEN a boy, Harry Bluff left his friends

and his home, And his dear native land, on the ocean

to roam ; Like a sapling he sprung, he was fair to the view, And was true British oak, boys, when older he grew. Though his body was weak, and his hands they were

soft, When the signal was heard, he the first went aloft, And the veterans all cried, he'll one day lead the van, For though rated a boy, he'd the soul of a man,

And the heart of a true British sailor.
When in manhood promoted, and burning for fame,
Still in peace and in war, Harry Bluff was the same;
So true to his love, and in battle so brave,
For the myrtle and laurel entwine round his grave.
For his country he fell, when by victory crown'd-
The flag shot away, fell in tatters around;
The foe thought he'd struck, but he sung out avast;
And the colours of old England he nailed to the

Then he died like a true British sailor.


Roxburghe Ballads.
OME all you brave sailors

That sail on the main,
I'll tell you of a fight

That was lately in Spain,
And of five sail of frigates

Bound to Malago
For to fight the proud Spaniards,

Our orders were so.
There was the Henry and Ruby,

And the Antelope also,
The Greyhound, and the Bryan,

For fire-ships must go.

But so bravely we weigh’d,

And played our parts, That we made the proud Spaniards

To quake in their hearts.

When we came to an anchor,

So nigh to the Mold,
Methinks you proud English

Do grow very bold !
But we came to an anchor

So near to the town
That some of the churches

We soon batter'd down.

They hung out their flag of truce,

For to know our intent, And they sent out their long-boats

To know what we meant. But the captain he answered

Them bravely, it was so, For to burn all your shipping

Before we do go.

For to burn all our shipping,

You must us excuse,
'Tis not five sail of frigates

Shall make us to muse.
But we burnt all their shipping,

And their sailors also,
And we left in the city

Full many a widow.

Come then, says our captain,

Let's fire at the church;


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