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Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair;
He cursed 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 he seem'd to hear;
A sound as if with the Inchcape Bell
The devil below was ringing his knell.

SOUTHEY

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SCOTTISH BALLAD. Fair Lady Ann sat in her bower,

Adown by the green wode syde; And the flowres did spring, and the byrdes did sing,

'Twas the merry Mayday tyde. But fair Lady Ann on Sir William callid,

Wi the tear so big in her ee
O, though thou be fause, may Heaven thee guard

In the wars ayond the sea !
Out of the wood cam three bonny boys

A’ nakit as they were borne ;
And they did sing and play at the ba't

Upo the simmer's morn.
O, sevin lang zear wad I sit here

Among the frost and the sna,
A $ to ha but ane of thae $ bonny boys

A-playing at the ba'.
Then up and spak the eldest boy,

Now listen, thou faire ladie,
And ponder well the read || that I tell,
Then make you a choice of the three.
+ Ball. I All to bave.

Ø These. || Lesson, instruction.

* Eye.

'Tis I am Peter, and this is Paul,

And that ane sae fair to see But a twelmonth sin * syne to Paradise came,

To join with our companie. 0, I will hae the sna white boy,

The bonniest o' the three. • And gin I were there and in thy propine +,

0, what wad ze do wi me?' 'Tis I wad cleed thee in silk and gowd I,

And nourice thee on my knee! • O mither, mither, when I was thine,

Sic ố kindness I could nae see.
6 Beneath the sod where now I stand,

The fause nurse buried me,
And thy cruel penknife is still in my heart,
And I come not back to thee.'

ANONYMOUS.

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BALLAD.
SEE, Warder, yonder banner wave

Along the frosty air ;
'Tis the white cross of Edric brave,

Heaven grants him to my prayer ! • Down with the bridge!'-To meet her knight

She flew in joyous mood;
Nor mark'd the child, who follow'd light,

And linger'd in the wood.
My Adela! three tedious years

I've sigh’d for this bless'd hour!
Still blooms our boy?'-'Like rain my tears
Have nursed that lovely flower.'
+ Gift or management.

I Gold, Such.

6

Ago.

• Bar well the gate, for foes are nigh:

And bring my child.'—'Tis late,
And waken'd now he'd sob and cry;

Till morn, dear Edric, wait.'
The livelong night the Warder thought

He heard an infant's wail;
The livelong day the mother sought

Her boy o'er hill and dale.
At length she found him by the wall,

Tears frozen on his face ;-
She found him—and she shared his pall-
His dirge-his resting place.

MISS MITFORD.

THE OTAHEITAN MOURNER.

[Peggy Stewart was the daughter of an Otaheitan chief, and

married to one of the mutineers of the Bounty. On Stewart's being seized and carried away in the Pandora Frigate, Peggy fell into a rapid decay, and in two months died of a broken heart, leaving an infant daughter, who is still living.)

FROM the isle of the distant ocean

My white love came to me;
I led the weary stranger

Beneath the spreading tree.
With white and yellow blossoms

I strew'd his pillow there,
And watch'd his bosom's heaving,

So gentle and so fair.
Before I knew his language,

Or he could talk in mine,
We vow'd to love each other,

And never to resign.

0, then 'twas lovely watching

The sparkling of his eyes,
And learn the white man's greeting,

And answer all his sighs.
I taught my constant white love

To play upon the wave,
To turn the storm to pleasure,

And the curling surge to brave.
How pleasant was our sporting,

Like dolphins on the tide ; To dive beneath the billow,

Or the rolling surf to ride. To summer groves I led him,

Where fruit hangs in the sun; We linger'd by the fountains

That murmur as they run. By the verdant islands sailing,

Where the crested seabirds go, We heard the dash of the distant spray, And saw through the deeps the sunbeams play,

In the coral bowers below. And when my lover, weary,

To our woodland couch would creep, I sang the song that pleased him,

And crown'd bis lids with sleep. My kindred much would wonder,

The white man's love to see;
And Otaheitan maidens

Would often envy me.
Yet when my white love's forehead

Would sadden with despair,
I knew not why the cold drops

Should start and quiver there,

I knew not why in slumber

His heart should tremble so; Or lock'd in love's embraces,

How doubt and fear could grow.

Till o'er the bounding billow

The angry chieftains came; They seized my wretched lover,

They mock'd my anguish'd claim; In iron bands then bound him,

I flew his fate to share ;
They tore him from my clasping,

And threw me to despair.
Are white men unrelenting,

So far to cross the sea; Their chieftain's wrongs revenging,

To tear my love from me? Are Otaheitan bosoms

No refuge for the brave; Can exile nor repentance

A wretched lover save?

No more the Heiva's dancing

My mournful steps will suit ; As when to the torchlight glancing,

And beating to the flute. No more my braided tresses

With smiling flowers shall bloom; Nor blossom rich in beauty

Shall lend its sweet perfume.

All by the sounding ocean

I sit me down and mourn, In hopes his chiefs may pardon him,

And speed my love's return.

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