There were forty craft in Avès that were both swift and stout, All furnish'd well with small-arms and cannons round about; But the last tune that the harp play'd And a thousand men in Avès made laws then, Binnorie, O Binnorie; Was-"Woe to my sister, false Helen!" By the bonny milldams of Binnorie. AUTHOR UNKNOWN. BONNIE GEORGE CAMPbell. HIE upon Hielands, Oh the palms grew high in Avès and fruits | Better he loves each golden curl that shone like gold, And the colibris and parrots they were gorgeous to behold; And the negro maids to Avès from bondage fast did flee, To welcome gallant sailors a-sweeping in from sea. On the brow of that Scandinavian girl Than his rich crown jewels of ruby and pearl; And his Rose of the Isles is dying! Thirty nobles saddled with speed; (Hurry!) Each one mounting a gallant steed Oh sweet it was in Avès to hear the land- Which he kept for battle and days of ward breeze A-swing with good tobacco in a net be tween the trees, need; (Oh ride as though you were flying!) Spurs were struck in the foaming flank; With a negro lass to fan you while you lis- Worn-out chargers stagger'd and sank; Bridles were slacken'd, and girths were ten'd to the roar Of the breakers on the reef outside that never touch'd the shore. But Scripture saith, an ending to all fine things must be, So the King's ships sail'd on Avès, and quite put down were we. burst; But ride as they would, the king rode first, For his Rose of the Isles lay dying! His nobles are beaten one by one; (Hurry!) All day we fought like bulldogs, but they They have fainted, and falter'd, and home burst the booms at night; And I fled in a piragua sore wounded from the fight. Nine days I floated starving, and a negro lass beside, Till for all I tried to cheer her, the poor young thing she died; But as I lay a-gasping a Bristol sail came by, And brought me home to England here to beg until I die. ward gone; His little fair page now follows alone, For strength and for courage trying. The king look'd back at that faithful child; Wan was the face that answering smiled; They pass'd the drawbridge with clattering din, Then he dropp'd; and only the king rode in Where his Rose of the Isles lay dying! The king blew a blast on his bugle horn; (Silence!) And now I'm old and going-I'm sure I No answer came; but faint and forlorn can't tell where; One comfort is, this world's so hard I can't be worse off there: If I might but be a sea-dove I'd fly across the main, An echo return'd on the cold gray morn, Like the breath of a spirit sighing. The castle portal stood grimly wide; None welcomed the king from that weary ride; To the pleasant Isle of Avès, to look at it For dead, in the light of the dawning The tears gush'd forth which he strove to He bow'd his head on his charger's neck: CAROLINE NORTON. A SONG OF THE NORTH. And the stars in the skies with their great wild eyes, Peer'd out from the Northern Lights. The gallant Crozier and brave Fitz James, And even the stout Sir John, Felt a doubt like a chill through their warm hearts thrill As they urged the good ships on. "AWAY! away!" cried the stout Sir They sped them away, beyond cape and John, "While the blossoms are on the trees; For the summer is short and the time speeds on, As we sail for the northern seas. ern seas That never was found till now! A good stout ship is the Erebus As ever unfurl'd a sail, And the Terror will match with as brave a one As ever outrode a gale." bay, Where even the tear-drops freeze; And they sought, but they sought in vain, For no way was found, through the ice around, To return to their homes again. Till they closed like a prison-wall; So they bade farewell to their pleasant O God! O God!—it was hard to die homes, To the hills and the valleys green, With three hearty cheers for their native isle, And three for the English queen. They sped them away beyond cape and bay, Where the day and the night are oneWhere the hissing light in the heavens grew bright And flamed like a midnight sun. snow, That stretch'd to the icy Pole; Along the coast like a giant host The glittering icebergs frown'd, Or they met on the main like a battle- And crash'd with a fearful sound! In that prison-house of ice! The gallant Crozier and brave Fitz James, Had a secret dread and their hopes all As the weeks and the months pass'd on. Then the Ice King came, with his eyes of flame, And look'd on that fated crew; through. A heavy sleep, that was dark and deep, And they dream'd strange dreams of the And the blue of their native skies. The Christmas chimes of the good old times Were heard in each dying ear, And the dancing feet and the voices sweet | Through tangled juniper, beds of reeds, Of their wives and their children dear! But it faded away-away-away! Like a sound on a distant shore; And deeper and deeper grew the sleep, Till they slept to wake no more! Oh, the sailor's wife and the sailor's child! They will weep and watch and pray; And the Lady Jane, she will hope in vain As the long years pass away! The gallant Crozier and brave Fitz James, And a port where we all are bound. But there is no sleep and no grave so deep That can hold a human soul. ELIZABETH DOTEN. THE LAKE OF THE DISMAL SWAMP. "THEY made her a grave too cold and damp For a soul so warm and true; And she's gone to the Lake of the Dismal Swamp, Where all night long, by a firefly lamp, She paddles her white canoe. "And her firefly lamp I soon shall see, And her paddle I soon shall hear; Long and loving our life shall be, And I'll hide the maid in a cypress tree, When the footstep of death is near." Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds,His path was rugged and sore, |