And soon they saw the crowded strand

Wear dimly from their view; And soon they saw the distant land,

A line of hazy blue.
The white-sail'd ship with favouring breeze,

In all her gallant pride,
Moved like the mistress of the seas,

That rippled far and wide.
Sometimes with steady course she went,

O'er wave and surge careering;
Sometimes with sidelong mast she bent,

Her wings the sea-foam sheering. Sometimes, with poles and rigging bare,

She scudded before the blast;
But safely by the Syrian shore,

Her anchor dropt at last.
What martial honours Maurice won,

Join'd with the brave and great,
From the fierce, faithless Saracen,

I may not here relate.
With boldest band on bridge or moat,

With champion on the plain, ľ th' breach with clustering foes he fought,

Choked up with grisly slain. Most valiant by the valiant styled,

Their praise his deeds proclaim'd,
And oft his liegemen proudly smiled

To hear their leader named.
But fate will quell the hero's strength,

And dim the loftiest brow;
And this, our noble chief, at length

Was in the dust laid low.
He lay the heaps of dead beneath,

As sunk life's flickering flame,
And thought it was the trace of death,

That o'er his senses came.
And when again day's blessed light

Did on his vision fall,
There stood by his side,-a wondrous sight!

The ancient seneschal.
He strove, but could not utter word,

His misty senses fled;
Again he woke, and Moorham's lord

Was bending o'er his bed.
A third time sank he, as if dead,

And then, his eyelids raising,
He saw a chief with turban'd head,

Intently on him gazing.
“ The prophet's zealous servant I;

His battles I've fought and won ; Christians I scorn, their creeds deny,

But honour Mary's Son.
« And I have wedded an English dame,

And set her parent free ;
And none, who wears an English name,

Shall e'er be thrall’d by me.
« For her dear sake I can endure

All wrong, all hatred smother ; Whate'er I feel, thou art secure,

As though thou wert my brother."

“ And thou hast wedded an English dame !"

Sir Maurice said no more,
For o'er his heart soft weakness came,

He sigh'd and wept full sore.
And many a dreary day and night

With the Moslem chief stay'd he,
But ne'er could catch, to bless his sight,

One glimpse of the fair lady.
Oft gazed he on her lattice high

As he paced the court below,
And turn’d his listening ear to try

If word or accent low
Might haply reach him there; and oft

Traversed the garden green,
Wotting her footsteps small and soft

Might on the turf be seen.
And oft to Moorham's lord he gave

His listening ear, who told,
How he became a wretched slave

Within that Syrian hold;
What time from liegemen parted far,

Upon the battle field,
By stern and adverse fate of war

He was obliged to yield:
And how his daughter did by stealth

So boldly cross the sea
With secret store of gather'd wealth,

To set her father free:
And how into the foeman's hands

She and her people fell ;
And how (herself in captive bands)

She sought him in his cell;
And but a captive boy appear’d,

Till grief her sex betray'd,
And the fierce Saracen, so fear's !

Spoke gently to the maid:
How for her plighted hand sued he,

And solemn promise gave,
Her noble father should be free

With every Christian slave;
(For many there, in bondage kept,

Felt the stern rule of vice;)
How, long she ponder'd, sorely wept,

Then paid the fearful price.-
A tale which made his bosom thrill,

His faded eyes to weep;
He, waking, thought upon it still,

And saw it in his sleep.
But harness rings, and the trumpet's bray

Again to battle calls;
And Christian powers, in grand array,

Are near those Moslem walls.
Sir Maurice heard; un toward fate!

Sad to be thought upon :
But the castle's lord unlock'd its gate,

And bade his guest be gone.
“ Fight thou for faith by thee adored

By thee so well maintain'd!
But never may this trusty sword
With blood of thine be stain'd!"

L

Sir Maurice took him by the hand,

“God bless thee, too,”-he cried ; Then to the nearest Christian band

With mingled feelings hied.
The battle join'd, with dauntless pride

'Gainst foemen, foemen stood; And soon the fatal field was dyed

With many a brave man's blood.
At length gave way the Moslem force;

Their valiant chief was slain;
Maurice protected his lifeless corse,

And bore it from the plain.
There's mourning in the Moslem halls,

A dull and dismal sound :
The lady left its 'leaguer'd walls,

And safe protection found.
When months were past, the widow'd dame

Look'd calm and cheerfully ;
Then Maurice to her presence came,

And bent him on his knee.
What words of penitence or suit

He utter'd, pass we by ;
The lady wept, awhile was mute,

Then gave this firm reply:
“ That thou didst doubt my maiden pride

(A thought that rose and vanish'd So fleetingly) I will not chide ;

'Tis from remembrance banish'd.
“But thy fair fame, earn’d by thy sword,

Still spotless shall it be :
I was the bride of a Moslem lord,

And will never be bride to thee.”
So firm, though gentle, was her look,

Hope i' the instant fied:
A solemn, dear farewell he took,

And from her presence sped.
And she a plighted nun hecame,

God serving day and night; And he of blest Jerusalem

A brave and zealous knight.
But that their lot was one of wo,

Wot ye, because of this
Their seperate single state? if so,

In sooth ye judge amiss.
She tends the helpless stranger's bed,

For alms her wealth is stored ;
On her meek worth God's grace is shed,

Man's grateful blessings pour’d.
He still in warlike mail doth stalk,

In arms his prowess prove; And oft of siege or battle talk,

And sometimes of his love.
She was the fairest of the fair,

The gentlest of the kind;
Search ye the wide world everywhere,

Her like ye shall not find.
She was the fairest, is the best,

Too good for a monarch's bride'; I would not give her in her nun's coif dress'd

For all her sex beside.

ADDRESS TO A STEAM-VESSEL. FREIGHTED with passengers of every sort, A motley throng, thou leavest the busy port. Thy long and ample deck, where scatter'd lie Baskets, and cloaks, and shawls of scarlet dye; Where dogs and children through the crowd are

straying, And, on his bench apart, the fiddler playing, While matron dames to tressellid seats repair, Seems, on the gleamy waves a floating fair. Its dark form on the sky's pale azure cast, Towers from this clustering group thy pillar'd mast. The dense smoke issuing from its narrow vent Is to the air in curly volumes sent, Which, coiling and uncoiling on the wind, Trails like a writhing serpent far behind. Beneath, as each merged wheel its motion plies, On either side the white-churn'd waters rise, And, newly parted from the noisy fray, Track with light ridgy foam thy recent way, Then far diverged, in many a welted line Of lustre, on the distant surface shine.

Thou hold'st thy course in independent pride; No leave ask'st thou of either wind or tide. To whate'er point the breeze, inconstant, veer, Still doth thy careless helmsman onward steer; As if the stroke of some magician's wand Had lent thee power the ocean to command. What is this power which thus within thee lurks, And, all unseen, like a mask'd giant works? E’en that which gentle dames, at morning's tea, From silver urn ascending, daily see With tressy wreathings playing in the air, Like the loosed ringlets of a lady's hair ; Or rising from th' enamellid cup beneath, With the soft fragrance of an infant's breath: That which within the peasant's humble cot Comes from th’uncover'd mouth of savoury pot, As his kind mate prepares his noonday fare, Which cur, and cat, and rosy urchins share: That which, all silver'd with the moon's pale beann, Precedes the mighty Geyser's upcast stream, What time, with bellowing din exploded forth, It decks the midnight of the frozen north, Whilst travellers from their skin-spread couches

rise To gaze upon the sight with wondering eyes.

Thou hast to those “ in populous city pent," Glimpses of wild and beauteous nature lent; A bright remembrance ne'er to be destroy'd, Which proves to them a treasure, long enjoy'd, And for this scope to beings erst confined, I fain would hail thee with a grateful mind. They who had naught of verdant freshness seen But suburb orchards choked with colworts green Now, seated at their ease may glide along, Lochlomond's fair and fairy isles among; Where bushy promontories fondly peep At their own beauty in the nether deep, O’er drooping birch and berried row'n that lave Their vagrant branches in the glassy wave; They, who on higher objects scarce have counted Than church's spire with gilded vane surmounted, May view, within their near, distinctive ken, The rocky summits of the lofty Ben ;

Yea ;

A VOLUNTEER SONG. YE, who Britain's soldiers be, Freemen, children of the free, Who freely come at danger's call From shop and palace, cot and hall, And brace ye bravely up in warlike geer For all that ye bold dear! Blest in your hands be sword and spear ! There is no banded Briton here On whom some fond mate hath not smiled, Or hung in love some lisping child ; Or aged parent, grasping his last stay With locks of honour'd gray. Such men behold with steady pride The threaten'd tempest gathering wide, And list, with onward forms inclined, To sound of foemen on the wind, And bravely act, mid the wild battle's roar, In scenes untried before. Let veterans boast, as well they may, Nerves steel'd in many a bloody day; The generous heart, who takes his stand Upon his free and native land, Doth with the first sound of the hostile drum A fearless man become. Come then, ye hosts that madly pour From wave-toss'd floats upon our shore ! If fell or gentle, false or true, Let those inquire who wish to sue : Nor fiend nor hero from a foreign strand Shall lord it in our land. Come then, ye hosts that madly pour From wave-toss'd floats upon our shore ! An adverse wind or breezeless main, Lock'd in their ports our tars detain, To waste their wistful spirits, vainly keen, Else here ye had not been.

TO A CHILD.
WHOSE imp art thou, with dimpled cheek,

And curly pate and merry eye,
And arm and shoulders round and sleek,

And soft and fair ? thou urchin sly!
What boots it who, with sweet caresses,

First call'd thee his, or squire or hind ?-
For thou in every wight that passes,

Dost now a friendly playmate find.
Thy downcast glances, grave, but cunning,

As fringed eyelids rise and fall,
Thy shyness, swiftly from me running,

'Tis infantine coquetry all!
But far afield thou hast not flown,

With mocks and threats half lisp'd, half spoken, I feel thee pulling at my gown,

Of right goodwill thy simple token. And thou must laugh and wrestle too,

A mimic warfare with me waging, To make, as wily lovers do,

Thy after kindness more engaging. The wilding rose, sweet as thyself,

And new-cropt daisies are thy treasure : I'd gladly part with worldly pelf,

To taste again thy youthful pleasure. But yet for all thy merry look,

Thy frisks and wiles, the time is coming, When thou shalt sit in cheerless nook,

The weary spell or horn-book thumbing. Well; let it be! through weal and wo,

Thou know'st not now thy future range ; Life is a motley, shifting show,

And thou a thing of hope and change.

* It was then frequently said, that our seamen excelled our soldiers.