Sweep by Holland like the blast, One quick glance on Denmark cast, Sweden, Russia,-all are past.

Now to thee, to thee, I fly,
Fairest isle beneath the sky,
To my heart, as in mine eye.

I have seen them, one by one,
Every shore beneath the sun,
And my voyage now is done.

While I bid them all be blest,
Britain is my home, my rest;
-Mine own land! I love thee pest.

Hartman.

JOANNA BAILLIE.

THE PHRENZY OF ORRA.

Theobald. Her body is.

IS SHE well?

Hart. And not her mind? oh, direst wreck of all! That noble mind!-But 't is some passing seizure Some powerful movement of a transient nature; It is not madness

Theo. 'Tis Heaven's infliction; let us call it so; Give it no other name.

Eleanora. Nay, do not thus despair; when she beholds

us,

She'll know her friends, and, by our kindly soothing,
Be gradually restored-

Alice. Let me go to her.

Theo. Nay, forbear, I pray thee;

I will myself with thee, my worthy Hartman,

Go in and lead her forth.

Orra. Come back, come back! the fierce and fiery light! Theo. Shrink not, dear love! it is the light of day. Orra. Have cocks crow'd yet?

Theo.

Yes; twice I've heard already

Their matin sound. Look up to the blue sky—
Is it not daylight there? And these green boughs
Are fresh and fragrant round thee; every sense
Tells thee it is the cheerful early day.

Orra. Aye, so it is; day takes his daily turn,

Rising between the gulfy dells of night,

Like whiten'd billows on a gloomy sea.

Till glow-worms gleam, and stars peep through the dark, And will-o'-the-wisp his dancing taper light,

They will not come again.

[Bending her ear to the ground.

Hark, hark! aye, hark!

They are all there: I hear their hollow sound

Full many a fathom down.

Theo. Be still, poor troubled soul! they'll ne'er return

They are for ever gone. Be well assured

Thou shalt from henceforth have a cheerful home,

With crackling fagots on thy midnight fire,
Blazing like day around thee; and thy friends-
Thy living, loving friends-still by thy side,
To speak to thee and cheer thee. See, my Orra!
They are beside thee now; dost thou not know them?
Orra. No, no! athwart the wav'ring garish light,
Things move and seem to be, and yet are nothing.
Elea. My gentle Orra! hast thou then forgot me?
Dost not thou know my voice?

Orra. 'Tis like an old tune to my ear return'd.
For there be those who sit in cheerful halls,

And breathe sweet air, and speak with pleasant sounds; And once I liv'd with such; some years gone by,—

I wot not now how long.

Hughobert. Keen words that rend my heart! thou

hadst a home,

And one whose faith was pledged for thy protection.

Urston. Be more composed, my Lord; soine faint re

membrance

Returns upon her, with the well-known sound

Of voices once familiar to her ear.

Let Alice sing to her some fav'rite tune,

That may lost thoughts recall.

[Alice sings.

Orra. Ha, ha! the witch'd air sings for thee bravely. Hoot owls through mantling fog for matin birds? It lures not me.-I know thee well enough: The bones of murder'd men thy measure beat, And fleshless heads nod to thee-Off, I say! Why are ye here?-That is the blessed sun. Elea. Ah, Orra! do not look upon us thus ; These are the voices of thy loving friends That speak to thee; this is a friendly hand That presses thine so kindly.

Hart. Oh, grievous state! what terror seizes thee? Orra. Take it away! It was the swathèd dead;

I know its clammy, chill, and bony touch.

Come not again; I'm strong and terrible now:

Mine eyes have look'd upon all dreadful things;

And when the earth yawns, and the hell-blast sounds
I'll bide the trooping of unearthly steps,

With stiff, clench'd, terrible strength

Hugh. A murd'rer is a guiltless wretch to me.
Hart. Be patient; 't is a momentary pitch;

Let me encounter it.

Orra. Take off from me thy strangely-fasten'd eye;