Around she pointed to a spacious

cave,

Whose only portal was the keyless wave,

(A hollow archway by the sun un

seen,

Save through the billows' glassy veil of green,

In some transparent ocean holiday, When all the finny people are at play),

Wiped with her hair the brine from Torquil's eyes,

And clapped her hands with joy at his surprise.

Forth from her bosom the young savage drew

A pine torch, strongly girded with

gnatoo;

A plantain leaf o'er all, the more to keep

Its latent sparkle from the sapping

deep.

This mantle kept it dry; then from a nook

Of the same plantain leaf, a flint she took,

A few shrunk withered twigs, and from the blade

Of Torquil's knife struck fire, and thus arrayed

The grot with torchlight. Wide it was and high,

And showed a self-born Gothic canopy;

The arch upreared by Nature's architect,

The architrave some earthquake might erect;

The buttress from some mountain's bosom hurled,

When the poles crashed and water was the world;

There, with a little tinge of phan

And led him into each recess, and showed

The secret places of their new abode. Nor these alone, for all had been prepared

Before, to soothe the lover's lot she shared;

The mat for rest; for dress the fresh gnatoo,

The sandal-oil to fence against the dew;

For food the cocoa-nut, the yam, the bread

Born of the fruit; for board the plantain spread

With its broad leaf, or turtle-shell which bore

A banquet in the flesh if covered o'er; The gourd with water recent from the rill,

The ripe banana from the mellow hill;

A pine torch pile to keep undying light;

And she herself as beautiful as night, To fling her shadowy spirit o'er the

It flapped, it filled, then to the growing gale

Bent its broad arch: her breath began to fail

With fluttering fear, her heart beat thick and high,

While yet a doubt sprung where its course might lie:

But no! it came not; fast and far away,

The shadow lessened as it cleared the bay.

She gazed, and flung the sea-foam from her eyes,

To watch as for a rainbow in the skies.

On the horizon verged the distant deck,

Diminished, dwindled to a very speck

Then vanished. All was ocean, all was joy!

BYRON.

"O mother, mother, mother," she said,

"So strange it seems to me. "Yet here's a kiss for my mother dear,

My mother dear, if this be so, And lay your hand upon my head, And bless me, mother, ere I go."

She clad herself in a russet gown,

She was no longer Lady Clare: She went by dale, and she went by down,

With a single rose in her hair.

The lily-white doe Lord Ronald had brought

Leapt up from where she lay, Dropt her head in the maiden's hand, And followed her all the way.

Down stept Lord Ronald from his tower:

"O Lady Clare, you shame your worth!

Why come you drest like a village maid,

That are the flower of the earth?"

AULD ROBIN GRAY.

YOUNG Jamie lo'ed me weel, and he sought me for his bride, But saving a crown he had naething else beside;

To make that crown a pound, my

Jamie gaed to sea,

And the crown and the pound were baith for me.

He had na been awa a week but only. twa,

When my mither she fell sick, and the cow was stown awa,

My father brak his arm, and my Jamie at the sea,

And auld Robin Gray cam' a-courting to me.

My father cou'dna work, and my mither cou'dna spin;

I toiled baith day and night, but their bread I cou'dna win; Auld Rob maintained them baith, and wi' tears in his ee

Said, Jenny, for their sakes, oh, will you marry me?

My heart it said nay; I looked for Jamie back;

But the wind it blew high, and the ship it proved a wrack, The ship it proved a wrack, - why didna Jenny dee?

And why do I live to say, Oh, waes me!

O, WALY, waly up the bank,
And waly, waly down the brae,
And waly, waly yon burn-side,
Where I and my love wont to gae.

I leaned my back unto an aik,
I thought it was a trusty tree;
But first it bowed, and syne it brak,
Sae my true love did light by me!

O, waly, waly, but love be bonny,
A little time while it is new;
But when 'tis auld it waxeth cauld,
And fades away like the morning
dew.

O, wherefore should I busk my head? Or wherefore should I kame my hair? For my true love has me forsook, And says he'll never love me mair.

Now Arthur-Seat shall be my bed; The sheets shall ne'er be fyled by me;

St. Anton's well shall be my drink, Since my true love has forsaken me.

Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw,

And shake the green leaves off the tree?

O gentle death, when wilt thou come? For of my life I'm weary.

'Tis not the frost that freezes fell, Nor blawing thaw's inclemency; 'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry, But my love's heart grown cauld to

me.