And the swoln tide of Severn spread
Far on the level shore.

In vain Lord William sought the feast,
In vain he quaff'd the bowl,

And strove with noisy mirth to drown
The anguish of his soul-

The tempest, as its sudden swell
In gusty howlings came,

With cold and death-like feelings seem'd
To thrill his shuddering frame.

Reluctant now, as night came on,
His lonely couch he press'd;
And wearied out, he sunk to sleep,-
To sleep-but not to rest.

Beside that couch his brother's form,
Lord Edmund seem'd to stand,
Such and so pale as when in death
He grasp'd his brother's hand;
Such and so pale his face as when
With faint and faultering tongue,
To William's care, a dying charge,
He left his orphan son.

"I bade thee with a father's love
My orphan Edmund guard-
Well, William, hast thou kept thy charge!
Now take thy due reward !"

He started up, each limb convulsed
With agonizing fear:

He only heard the storm of night,—
'Twas music to his ear.

When lo! the voice of loud alarm
His inmost soul appals;
"What, ho! Lord William, rise in haste!
The water saps thy walls!"

He rose in haste, beneath the walls

He saw the flood appear;

It hemm'd him round, 'twas midnight now, No human aid was near!

He heard the shout of joy, for now
A boat approach'd the wall,
And eager to the welcome aid

They crowd for safety all.

"My boat is small," the boatman cried,
"Twill bear but one away;
Come in, Lord William! and do ye
In God's protection stay."

Strange feeling fill'd them at his voice,
Even in that hour of woe,

That, save their Lord, there was not one
Who wish'd with him to go.

But William leap'd into the boat,

His terror was so sore;

"Thou shalt have half my gold !" he cried,
"Haste !—haste to yonder shore !"
The boatman plied the oar, the boat
Went light along the stream-
Sudden Lord William heard a cry
Like Edmund's drowning scream.

The boatman paused, "methought I heard
A child's distressful cry !"
"'Twas but the howling wind of night,"
Lord William made reply;

"Haste!-haste!-ply swift and strong the oar ! Haste!-haste across the stream !".

Again Lord William heard a cry
Like Edmund's drowning scream.

" I heard a child's distressful voice,"
The boatman cried again.

Nay, hasten on!-the night is dark-
And we should search in vain !"

And, oh! Lord William, dost thou know
How dreadful 'tis to die?

And canst thou without pitying hear

A child's expiring cry?

"How horrible it is to sink Beneath the chilly stream,

To stretch the powerless arms in vain,
In vain for help to scream!"

The shriek again was heard: It came
More deep, more piercing loud:
That instant o'er the flood the moon
Shone through a broken cloud :

And near them they beheld a child,
Upon a crag he stood,
A little crag, and all around
Was spread the rising flood.

The boatman plied the oar, the boat

Approach'd his resting-place :
The moon-beam shone upon the child,

And show'd how pale his face.

"Now reach thine hand!" the boatman cried,
"Lord William, reach and save !”—
The child stretch'd forth his little hands
To grasp the hand he gave-

Then William shriek'd; the hand he touch'd
Was cold, and damp, and dead!

He felt young Edmund in his arms !
A heavier weight than lead!

The boat sunk down, the murderer sunk
Beneath the avenging stream;

He rose, he shriek'd-no human ear
Heard William's drowning scream!

The Mariners of England.

Ye Mariners of England!

That guard our native seas;

Whose flag has braved, a thousand years,

The battle, and the breeze!

Your glorious standard launch again

To match another foe!

And sweep through the deep,

While the stormy tempests blow;

While the battle rages loud and long,

And the stormy tempests blowden

Southey.

The spirits of your fathers
Shall start from every wave!

For the deck it was their field of fame,
And Ocean was their grave;
Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell,
Your manly hearts shall glow,
As ye sweep through the deep,
While the stormy tempests blow!
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy tempests blow!
Britannia needs no bulwark,

No towers along the steep;

Her march is o'er the mountain waves !

Her home is on the deep!

With thunders from her native oak,

She quells the floods below

As they roar on the shore,

When the stormy tempests blow;
When the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy tempests blow!
The meteor flag of England
Shall yet terrific burn ;

Till danger's troubled night depart,
And the star of peace return,
Then, then, ye ocean-warriors!
Our song and feast shall flow

To the fame of your name,

When the storm has ceased to blow;
When the fiery fight is heard no more,
And the storm has ceased to blow.

Thunder Storm among the Alps.

It is the hush of night; and all between

Campbell.

Thy margin and the mountains, dusk, yet clear, Mellow'd and mingling, yet distinctly seenSave darken'd Jura, whose capp'd heights appear Precipitously steep; and drawing near,

There breathes a living fragrance from the shore, Of flowers yet fresh with childhood; on the ear Drops the light drip of the suspended oar;

Or chirps the grasshopper one good-night carol more ;

He is an evening reveller, who makes
His life an infancy, and sings his fill!
At intervals, some bird from out the brakes,
Starts into voice a moment-then is still.
There seems a floating whisper on the hill-
But that is fancy, for the star-light dews
All silently their tears of love instil,
Weeping themselves away, till they infuse
Deep into Nature's breast the spirit of her hues.

The sky is changed!—and such a change! O night,
And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong!
Yet lovely in your strength, as in the light
Of a dark eye in woman! Far along,
From peak to peak, the rattling crags among
Leaps the live thunder!-not from one lone cloud;
But every mountain now hath found a tongue,
And Jura answers, through her misty shroud,
Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud!

And this is in the night:-Most glorious night! Thou wert not sent for slumber! let me be A sharer in thy fierce and far delight,A portion of the tempest and of thee! How the lit lake shines!-a phosphoric sea! And the big rain comes dancing to the earth! And now again 'tis black,—and now, the glee Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain-mirth, As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth. Now, where the swift Rhone cleaves his way be

tween

Heights-which appear as lovers who have parted In hate, whose mining depths so intervene,

That they can meet no more, though broken-hearted! Though in their souls, which thus each other thwarted,

Love was the very root of the fond rage

Which blighted their life's bloom, and then-departed!

Itself expired, but leaving them an age

Of years-all winters !-war within themselves to

wage!