Flag of the seas! on ocean's wave
Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave,
When Death, careering on the gale,
Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail,
And frighted waves rush wildly back,
Before the broadside's reeling rack;*
The dying wand'rer of the sea
Shall look at once to heaven and thee,
And smile to see thy splendors fly,
In triumph o'er his closing eye.

PARTING OF DOUGLAS AND MARMION.
Nor far advanced was morning day,
When Marmion did his troops array,
To Surrey's camp to ride;
He had safe-conduct for his band,
Beneath the royal seal and hand,
And Douglas gave a guide;
The ancient Earl, with stately grace,
Would Clara on her palfrey place,
And whispered, in an under tone,
"Let the hawk stoop, his prey is flown."
The train from out the castle drew;
But Marmion stopped to bid adieu :—
"Though something I might plain," he said,
"Of cold respect to stranger guest,
Sent hither by your king's behest,
While in Tantallon's towers I staid,
Part we in friendship from your land,
And, noble Earl, receive my hand.".
But Douglas round him drew his cloak,
Folded his arms, and thus he spoke :
'My manors, halls, and bowers, shall still
Be open, at my sovereign's will,

66

To each one whom he lists, howe'er
Unmeet to be the owner's peer.
My castles are my king's alone,
From turret to foundation stone,-
The hand of Douglas is his own,
And never shall, in friendly grasp,
The hand of such as Marmion clasp."

Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire,
And shook h's very frame with ire,

And,-"This to me!" he said,―
"An 't were not for thy hoary beard,
Such hand as Marmion's had not spared
To cleave the Douglas' head!
And, first, I tell thee, haughty peer,
He, who does England's message here,
Although the meanest in her state,
May well, proud Angus, be thy mate;
And, Douglas, more I tell thee here,
Even in thy pitch of pride,

Here in thy hold, thy vassals near,
(Nay, never look upon your lord,
And lay your hands upon your sword,)
I tell thee, thou 'rt defied!

And if thou saidst, I am not peer
To any lord in Scotland here,
Lowland or Highland, far or near,
Lord Angus, thou hast lied!"
On the Earl's cheek the flush of rage
O'ercame the ashen hue of age;

Fierce he broke forth,

And dar'st thou then

To beard the lion in his den,

The Douglas in his hall?

And hop'st thou hence unscathed to go?-
No, by St. Bride of Bothwell, no!—

dravi, grooms—rial, warder, ho!
Let the y neulls all.”-

Lora Marm. I 10-12- -wel was his need,
And dashed the rvels in his steed,
Like arrow throng the are way spring,
The Τ nderous grate beliind him rung :
To pass there was such scanty room,
The bars, descending, razed his plume.
The seed along the drawbridge fies,
Just as it en bied on the rise:
Not ligner does the swallow skim
Along the smooth lake's level brim.
And when Lord Marmion reached Lis band,
He hals, and turns with clenched hand,
And shout of loud defance pours,

And shook his gaundet at the towers.
"Horse! Lorse! the Douglas cried, “and chase!”
But soon be reined his fury's pace:
"A royal messenger be came,

Though most unworthy of the name.—
Saint Mary mend my fiery mood !
Old age ne'er cools the Douglas blood;
I thought to slay him where he stood.—
'Tis pity of him too," he cried ;
"Bold can he speak, and fairly ride:
I warrant him a warrior tried."—
With this his mandate he recalls,
And slowly seeks his castle halls.

[Scott.

THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET.

How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood!
When fond recollection presents them to view;
The orchard, the meadow, the deep tangled wild-wood,
And every loved spot which my infancy knew;

The wide-spreading pond, and the mill that stood by it,
The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell;
The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it,
And e'en the rude bucket which hung in the well;
The old oaken bucket,-the iron-bound bucket,-
That moss-covered bucket, which hung in the well.

That moss-covered vessel I hail as a treasure;

For often at noon, when returned from the field, I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure,

The purest and sweetest that nature can yield.
How ardent I seized it with hands that were glowing,
And quick to the white pebbled bottom it fell;
Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing,
And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well;

The old oaken bucket,—the iron-bound bucket,—
The moss-covered bucket arose from the well.

How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it,
As poised on the curb, it inclined to my lips!
Not a full, blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it,
Though filled with the nectar that Jupiter sips.
And now, far removed from that loved situation,
The tear of regret will intrusively swell,

As fancy reverts to my father's plantation,

And sighs for the bucket which hangs in the well; The old oaken bucket,-the iron-bound bucket,— The moss-covered bucket which hangs in the well.

[Woodworth.

WARREN'S ADDRESS.

STAND! the ground's your own, my braves!
Will ye give it up to slaves?

Will ye look for greener graves?

Hope ye mercy still?

What's the mercy despots feel?
Hear it in that battle peal!
Read it on yon bristling steel!
Ask it,-ye who will.

Fear ye foes who kill for hire?
Will ye to your homes retire?
Look behind you! they're a-fire!
And, before you, see

Who have done it!-From the vale
On they come !-and will ye quail?-
Leaden rain and iron hail

Let their welcome be !

In the God of battles trust!
Die we may, and die we must:-
But, oh! where can dust to dust

Be consigned so well,

As where heaven its dews shall shed
On the martyred patriot's bed,

And the rocks shall raise their head,
Of his deeds to tell?

[Pierpont.

THE GIPSY WANDERER.

'T was night, and the farmer, his fireside near, O'er a pipe quaffed his ale, stout and old; The hinds were in bed, when a voice struck his ear,"Let me in, I beseech you!" just so ran the prayer,— "Let me in !—I am dying with cold.”

Admit the poor wretch from the storm ;

For our chimney will not lose a jot of its heat,

Although the night wanderer may there find a seat,
And beside our wood embers grow warm.