And she cried: 'Ply the oar; O'er the sea. And from isle, tower, and rock, From the lee. III. 'And fear'st thou, and fear'st thou ? And see'st thou, and hear'st thou ? And drive we not free O'er the terrible sca, I and thou?' One boat-cloak did cover Their blood beats one measure, They murmur proud pleasure While around the lashed Ocean, IV. In the court of the fortress Like a blood-hound well beaten On the topmost watch-turret, And with curses as wild He devotes to the blast The best, loveliest, and last SHELLEY. SONG. 'O MARY, go and call the cattle home, And call the cattle home, And call the cattle home, Across the sands o' Dee;' The western wind was wild and dank wi' foam, And all alone went she. The creeping tide came up along the sand, And o'er and o'er the sand, And round and round the sand, As far as eye could see; The blinding mist came down and hid the land,— And never home came she. 'O is it weed or fish or floating hair, A tress o' golden hair, O' drowned maiden's hair, Above the nets at sea? Was never salmon yet that shone so fair, Among the stakes on Dee.' They rowed her in across the rolling foam, The cruel crawling foam, The cruel hungry foam, To her grave beside the sea; But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home Across the sands o' Dee. CHARLES KINGSLEY. THE FISHERMAN. A PERILOUS life, and sad as life may be, O'er the wide waters laboring, far from home, The lonely fisher thus must ever fare ; Without the comfort, hope, with scarce a friend, He looks through life, and only sees-its end! BARRY CORNWALL. SIR PATRICK SPENS. THE king sits in Dunfermline town, |