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137 Down sank the bell with a gurgling sound; The bubbles rose and burst around. Quoth Sir Ralph, “ The next who comes to the rock Won't bless the Abbot of Aberbrothok."

Sir Ralph the Rover sailed away;
He scoured the seas for many a day;
And now, grown rich with plundered store,
He steers his course for Scotland's shore.

So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky,
They cannot see the sun on high;
The wind hath blown a gale all day,
At evening it hath died away.

On the deck the Rover takes his stand;
So dark it is they see no land.
Quoth Sir Ralph, “ It will be lighter soon,
For there is the dawn of the rising moon.”

“ Can'st hear,” said one, “the breakers' roar?

For methinks we should be near the shore.
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 fallen, they drift along,
Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock.
Cried they, “It is the Inchcape Rock!”

Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair ;
He curst himself in his despair ;
The waves rush in on every side,
The ship is sinking beneath the tide!

But even in his dying fear
One dreadful sound could the Rover hear-
A sound as if with the Inchcape Bell
The fiends below were ringing his knell.



A TIME there was of tender young affection,

When I in stature scarcely reached an ell; Sweet tears flow ever at the recollection,

And, therefore, often on these times I dwell. Then by my loving mother was I carried ;

Then strode my father's knee, a horseman bold; Nor knew of grief, or care, or brain o'erwearied,

More than I knew of classic lore or gold. The earth was very small then to my dreaming,

And in it there was little to condemn;
Then I beheld the stars as pin-pricks gleaming,

And wished for wings to fly away to them.
I saw the moon then towards the island sailing,

And thought could I now to yon isle escape, Then should I know, without a chance of failing,

How large, how round, how beautiful its shape! Then saw I, marvelling, God's sun descending

Towards the west, to the sea's golden bed, And yet next morning, early, re-ascending, And gilding all heaven's eastern realm with red.


139 And thought upon the gracious God the Father,

Who me created and that glorious sun,
And all those pearly splendours strung together,

And Aung from pole to pole o'er all heaven's span.
With sweet devotion spake my young lips ever

The words which my good mother bade me pray: O Thou great God, be all my life's endeavour

Wise to become, and good, and to obey."
Then prayed I for my father and my mother,

And for my sister, and for all the town,
For the unknown king, nor yet forgot that other,
The beggar lame, who wandered up and down.


STAFFA, I scaled thy summit hoar;

I passed beneath thy arch gigantic,
Whose pillared cavern swells the roar
When thunders on thy rocky shore

The roll of the Atlantic.
That hour the wind forgot to rave,

The surge forgot its motion,
And every pillar in thy cave
Slept in its shadow on thy wave,

Unrippled by the ocean.
Then the past age before me came,

When, 'mid the lightning's sweep,
Thy isle, with its basaltic frame,
And every column wreathed with flame,

Burst from the boiling deep;
When, 'mid Iona's wrecks meanwhile

O'er sculptured graves I trod,
Where time had strewn each mouldering aisle
O’er saints and kings that reared the pile,

I hailed the eternal God:
Yet, Staffa, more I felt His presence in thy cave
Than where Iona's cross rose o'er the western wave.

-William Sotheby.

MOTHER, I'm tired, and I would fain be sleeping;

Let me repose upon thy bosom sleek;
But promise me that thou wilt leave off weeping,

Because thy tears fall hot upon my cheek.
Here it is cold; the tempest raveth madly,

But in my dreams all is so wondrous bright; I see the angel-children smiling gladly

When from my weary eyes I shut out light. Mother, one stands beside me now! and, listen!

Dost thou not hear the music's sweet accord ? See how his white wings beautifully glisten!

Surely those wings were given him by our Lord:
Green, gold, and red are floating all around me-

They are flowers the angel scattereth.
Shall í have also wings whilst life has bound me?

Or, mother, are they given alone in death?
Why dost thou clasp me as if I were going ?

Why dost thou press thy cheek thus unto mine? Thy cheek is hot, and yet thy tears are flowing ;

I will, dear mother, will be always thine !
Do not sigh thus-it marreth my reposing ;

And if thou weep, then I must weep with thee.
Oh, I am tired! my weary eyes are closing;
Look, mother, look! the angel kisseth me!

-Hans Andersen.


THE water rolled--the water swelled

A fisher sat beside ;
Calmly his patient watch he held

Beside the freshening tide.
And while his patient watch he keeps,

The parted waters rose,
And from the oozy ocean deeps

A water-maiden rose.

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She spake to him, she sang to him,
“Why lurest thou so my brood,
With cunning art and cruel heart,

From out their native flood ?
Ah! could'st thou know how here below

Our peaceful lives glide o'er,
Thou’dst leave thine earth, and plunge beneath

To seek our happier shore.
“ Bathes not the golden sun his face-

The moon too—in the sea ?
And rise they not from their resting-place

More beautiful to see?
And lures thee not the clear deep heaven

Within the waters blue ?
And thy form so fair, so mirrored there

In that eternal dew?"
The water rolled—the water swelled-

It reached his naked feet;
He felt, as at his love's approach,

His bounding bosom beat.
She spake to him, she sang to him-

His short suspense is o'er ;
Half drew she him-half dropped he in,
And sank, to rise no more!

- Goethe.

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