Lord Ullin's Daughter
A Chieftan to the Highlands bound
Cries, 'Boatman, do not tarry!
And I'll give thee a silver pound
To row us o'er the ferry!'
'Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle
This dark and stormy water?'
'O I'm the chief of Ulva's isle,
And this, Lord Ullin's daughter.
'And fast before her father's men,
Three days we've fled together,
For should he find us in the glen,
My blood would stain the heather.
'His horsemen hard behind us ride -
Should they our steps discover,
Then who will cheer my bonnie bride
When they have slain her lover?'
Out spoke the hardy Highland wight,
'I'll go, my chief, I'm ready:
It is not for your silver bright,
But for your winsome lady: -
'And by my word! the bonny bird
In danger shall not tarry;
So though the waves are raging white
I'll row you o'er the ferry.'
By this the storm grew loud apace,
The water-wraith was shrieking;
And in the scowl of Heaven each face
Grew dark as they were speaking.
But still as wilder blew the wind,
And as the night grew drearer,
Adown the glen rode armed men,
Their trampling sounded nearer.
'O haste thee, haste!' the lady cries
'Though tempests round us gather;
I'll meet the raging of the skies,
But not an angry father.'
The boat has left a stormy land,
A stormy sea before her, -
When, oh! too strong for human hand
The tempest gather'd o'er her.
And still they row'd amidst the roar
Of waters fast prevailing:
Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore, -
His wrath was changed to wailing.
For, sore dismayed, through storm and shade
His child he did discover: -
One lovely hand she stretch'd for aid,
And one was round her lover.
'Come back! come back!' he cried in grief
'Across this stormy water:
And I'll forgive your Highland chief,
My daughter! - Oh, my daughter!'
'Twas vain: the loud waves lash'd the shore,
Return or aid preventing:
The waters wild went o'er his child,
And he was left lamenting.
Lord Ullin's Daughter
Earl March look'd on his dying child,
And, smit with grief to view her -
'The youth,' he cried, 'whom I exiled
Shall be restored to woo her.'
She's at the window many an hour
His coming to discover:
And he look'd up to Ellen's bower
And she look'd on her lover -
But ah! so pale, he knew her not
Though her smile on him was dwelling -
'And am I then forgot - forgot?'
It broke the heart of Ellen.
In vain he weeps; in vain he sighs,
Her cheek is cold as ashes;
Nor love's own kiss shall wake those eyes
To lift their silken lashes.
The Battle of the Baltic
Of Nelson and the North
Sing the glorious day’s renown,
When to battle fierce came forth
All the might of Denmark’s crown,
And her arms along the deep proudly shone:
By each gun the lighted brand
In a bold determined hand,
And the Prince of all the land
Led them on.
Like leviathans afloat
Lay their bulwarks on the brine,
While the sign of battle flew
On the lofty British line:
It was ten of April morn by the chime:
As they drifted on their path
There was silence deep as death,
And the boldest held his breath
For a time.
But the might of England flush’d
To anticipate the scene;
And her van the fleeter rush’d
O’er the deadly space between:
"Hearts of oak!" our captains cried, when each gun
From its adamantine lips
Spread a death-shade round the ships,
Like the hurricane eclipse
Of the sun.
Again! again! again!
And the havoc did not slack,
Till a feeble cheer the Dane
To our cheering sent us back;—
Their shots along the deep slowly boom:—
Then ceased—and all is wail,
As they strike the shatter’d sail,
Or in conflagration pale
Light the gloom.
Out spoke the victor then
As he hail’d them o’er the wave:
Ye are brothers; ye are men!
And we conquer but to save:—
So peace instead of death let us bring:
But yield, proud foe, thy fleet,
With the crews, at England’s feet,
And make submission meet
To our King."...
Now joy, old England, raise!
For the tidings of thy might,
By the festal cities’ blaze,
Whilst the wine-cup shines in light!
And yet amidst that joy and uproar,
Let us think of them that sleep
Full many a fathom deep,
By thy wild and stormy steep,
Elsinore!1
Brave hearts! to Britain's pride
Once so faithful and so true,
On the deck of fame that died
With the gallant good Riou2 —
Soft sigh the winds of Heaven o'er their grave!
While the billow mournful rolls
And the mermaid's song condoles,
Singing glory of the souls
Of the brave!