Up and down!-up and down! From the base of the wave to the billow's crown, The Stormy Petrel finds a home A home, if such a place may be, For her who lives on the wide, wide sea, And only seeketh her rocky lair To warm her young, and to teach them to spring O'er the deep!-o'er the deep! Where the whale, and the shark, and the sword-fish sleep. Outflying the blast and the driving rain, The Petrel telleth her tale-in vain; For the mariner curseth the warning bird Which bringeth him news of the storm unheard! Meet hate from the creatures he serveth still Once more o'er the waves on thy stormy wing! Supposed to describe the return home of a Soldier after the great Mutiny of the Native Troops in India, in 1857, had been put down. "O come you from the Indies?' and, Soldier, can you tell Aught of the gallant 90th, and who are safe and well? O, Soldier, say my son is safe; for nothing else I care,And you shall have a mother's thanks-shall have a widow's prayer." 1 India is sometimes spoken of as the Indies, because there is an East and a West Indies. "Oh, I've come from the Indies-I've just come from the war; And well I know the 90th, and gallant lads they are; From colonel down to rank and file, I know my comrades well, And news I've brought you, mother, your Robert bade me tell." "And do you know my Robert now? O tell me, tell me true, "Through Havelock's fights and marches, the 90th were there; In all the gallant 90th did, your Robert did his share; Twice he went into Lucknow,3 untouched by steel or ball, And you may bless your God, old dame, that brought him safe through all." "O thanks unto the living God that heard his mother's prayer,— The widow's cry that rose on high, her only son to spare; O bless'd be God, that turn'd from him the sword and shot away! And what to his old mother did my darling bid you say?" "Mother, he saved his colonel's life, and bravely it was done; In the despatch they told it all, and named and praised your son; A medal and a pension's his; good luck to him I say, And he has not a comrade but will wish him well to-day." 2 Havelock, Sir Henry, led the British troops who relieved the garrison of Lucknow. He died there very soon after; worn out by his exertions. 3 Lucknow, the capital of the province of Oude. The British garrison then was besieged by an army of Sepoys (our Indian soldiers) who had mutinied, but it held out against tremendous odds, till Havelock relieved it. despatch, an official letter despatched to the authorities by the commanding officer. "Now, Soldier, blessings on your tongue. O husband, that you knew How well our boy pays me this day for all that I've gone through, All I have done and borne for him, the long years since you're dead! But, Soldier, tell me how he look'd, and all my Robert said.” "He's bronzed, and tann'd, and bearded, and you'd hardly know him, dame, We've made your boy into a man, but still his heart's the same; "O is he really coming home, and shall I really see My boy again, my own boy, home; and when, when will it be? Did you say soon ?"-" Well, he is home; keep cool, old dame; he's here." "O Robert, my own blessed boy!"-"O mother-mother dear!" HE NEVER SMILED AGAIN.1 THE bark that held a prince went down, He lived-for life may long be borne, 'Ere sorrow break its chain; Why comes not death to those who mourn? 1 It is recorded of Henry the First, that, after the death of his son Prince William, who perished by shipwreck in the "White Ship," off the coast of Normandy, A.D. 1120, he was never seen to smile. There stood proud forms before his throne, But which could fill the place of one, Before him passed the young and fair, But seas dashed o'er his son's bright hair- He sat where festal bowls went round; He saw the tourney's1 victor crowned A murmur of the restless deep A voice of winds that would not sleep- Hearts, in that time, closed o'er the trace And strangers took the kinsman's place At many a joyous board: Graves, which true love had bathed with tears, Were left to heaven's bright rain, Fresh hopes were born for other years— 2 tourney, contracted from tournament. A fight, sometimes in earnest, sometimes for sport, between knights, who generally fought on horseback, with lances. The name seems to have been given from the quick turning of the horses. THE MARINER'S SONG A WET sheet and a flowing sea, A wind that follows fast, And fills the white and rustling sail, And bends the gallant mast; And bends the gallant mast, my boys, While, like the eagle free, Away the good ship flies, and leaves "Oh for a soft and gentle wind!" I heard a fair one cry; But give to me the snoring breeze, And white waves heaving high; And white waves heaving high, my lads, The good ship tight and free The world of waters is our home, And merry men are we. |