MARY'S GHOST.

You thought that I was buried deep,
Quite decent like and chary,

But from her grave in Mary-bone

They've come and bon'd your Mary.

The arm that used to take your arm
Is took to Dr. Vyse:

And both my legs are gone to walk
The hospital at Guy's.

I vow'd that you should have my hand,
But fate gives us denial;
You'll find it there, at Doctor Bell's,
In spirits and a phial.

351

XXII-BATTLE OF BEAL' AN DUINE.

WALTER SCOTT.

AT once there rose so wild a yell
Within that dark and narrow dell,
As all the fiends from heaven that fell,
Had pealed the banner cry of hell!

Forth from the pass in tumult driven,
Like chaff before the wind of heaven,

The archery appear:

For life for life! their flight they ply-
And shriek, and shout, and battle-cry,
And plaids and bonnets waving high,
And broad-swords flashing to the sky,
Are maddening in their rear.
Onward they drive in dreadful race,
Pursuers and pursued ;

Before that tide of flight and chase,

How shall it keep its rooted place,
The spearmen's twilight wood?

Down, down," cried Mar, " your lances down! Bear back both friend and foe!"

Like reeds before the tempest's frown,

That scrried grove of lances brown
At once lay levelled low;

And closely shouldering side to side,
The bristling ranks the onset bide.
-"We'll quell the savage mountaineer,
As their Tinchel cows the game!

They come as fleet as forest deer,
We'll drive them back as tame."

Bearing before them, in their course,
The relics of the archer force

Like wave with crest of sparkling foam,
Right onward did Clan-Alpine come.
Above the tide, each broad-sword bright
Was brandishing like beam of light,
Each targe was dark below;
And with the ocean's mighty swing,
When heaving to the tempest's wing,
They hunted them on the foe.

I heard the lance's shivering crash,
As when the whirlwind rends the ash;

BATTLE OF THE BALTIC.

I heard the broad sword's deadly clang,
As if an hundred anvils rang!

But Moray wheeled his rearward rank
Of horsemen on Clan-Alpine's flank-
'My banner-men, advance!

66

"I see," he cried, "their column shake-
Now, gallants! for your ladies' sake,
Upon them with the lance !"

The horsemen dashed among the rout,
As deer break through the broom;
Their steeds are stout, their swords are out,
They soon make lightsome room.
Clan-Alpine's best are backward borne—
Where, where was Roderick then!
One blast upon his bugle-horn

Were worth a thousand men.
And refluent through the pass of fear
The battle's tide was pour'd;
Vanished the Saxon's struggling spear,
Vanished the mountain's sword.
As Brocklinn's chasm, so black and steep,
Receives her roaring linn,

As the dark caverns of the deep
Suck the wild whirlpool in,
So did the deep and darksome pass
Devour the battle's mingled mass;
None linger now upon the plain,
Save those who ne'er shall fight again.

XXIII-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.

353

CAMPBELL

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 havock 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 shattered sail;
Or in conflagration pale,

Light the gloom.

Now joy, old England, raise!

For the tidings of thy might,

By the festal cities' blaze,

While 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!

Brave hearts! to Britain's pride
Once so faithful and so true,
On the deck of Fame that died

With the gallant good Riou:

ADDRESS TO AN EGYPTIAN MUMMY.

Soft sigh the winds of heaven o'er their grave!
While the billow mournful rolls,
And the mermaid's song condoles,
Singing glory to the souls
Of the brave!

355

XXIV.-ADDRESS TO AN EGYPTIAN MUMMY.

HORACE SMITH.

AND thou hast walked about-how strange a story!—
In Thebes's streets, three thousand years ago!
When the Memnonium was in all its glory,

And time had not begun to overthrow
Those temples, palaces, and piles stupendous,
Of which the very ruins are tremendous.

Speak!-for thou long enough hast acted dummy,
Thou hast a tongue, come let us hear its tune!
Thou'rt standing on thy legs, above ground, mummy!
Revisiting the glimpses of the moon,-

Not like thin ghosts or disembodied creatures,

But with their bones, and flesh, and limbs, and features

Tell us

-for doubtless thou canst recollect,―

To whom should we assign the Sphinx's fame ?

Was Cheops, or Cephrenes architect

Of either pyramid that bears his name?

Is Pompey's pillar really a misnomer?

Had Thebes a hundred gates, as sung by Homer?

Perhaps thou wert a mason,—and forbidden,
By oath, to tell the mysteries of thy trade:
Then say, what secret melody was hidden

In Memnon's statue, which at sunrise play'd?
Perhaps thou wert a priest ;—if so, my struggles
Are in vain,—for priestcraft never owns its juggles!

Perchance that very hand, now pinion'd flat,

Hath hob-a-nobb'd with Pharaoh, glass to glass,