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My anxiety to wake in the morning, in order to be at my literary labors, kept me awake all night; and, from less to more, I became a regular victim to the disease called the Coma-vigil. Any attempt at original composition on my part was at this time out of the question. But the wolf was at the door; and, besides the current expenses of our common maintenance, I had to meet the quarterly payment of usurious interest, on a debt which I had been obliged to contract for our new furniture, and for the very cradle that rocked our first-born child. The usurious interest to which I allude was forty pounds a year upon a loan of two hundred pounds- a Judaic loan.

Throbbing as my temples were, after sleepless and anxious nights, I was obliged next day to work at such literary labor as I could undertake — that is, at prosaic tasks of compilation, abridgment, or commonplace thought, which required little more than the labor of penmanship.

“ I accepted an engagement to write for the Star newspaper, and the Philosophical Magazine, conducted by Mr. Tulloch, the editor of the Star, for which I received at the rate of two hundred pounds a year. But that sum — out of which I had to pay for a horse on which I rode to town every day — was quite inadequate to my wants ; so I betook myself to literary engagements that would allow me to labor all day in the country. Dispirited beneath all hope of raising my reputation by what I could write, I contracted for only anonymous labor — and, of course, at an humble price.”

It was during his early residence at Sydenham that Campbell completed Lord Ullin's Daughter, which had been first planned in the Island of Mull. Two of his poems written in Bavaria were now also revised for publication — The Turkish Lady and The Soldier's Dream. Then, too, the famous Battle of the Baltic was finished. “I am stagnated by the cares of the world,” he wrote to Walter Scott, on the 27th March, 1805; “I have only fought one other battle - it is Copenhagen. I wonder how you will like it in its incorrect state.” Dr. Beattie affords us the opportunity of comparing it in this state with the finished poem :

THE BATTLE OF COPENHAGEN.

Of Nelson and the North

Sing the day!
When, their haughty powers to vex,
He engaged the Danish decks,
And with twenty floating wrecks

Crowned the fray!

All bright, in April's sun,

Shone the day !
When a British fleet came down,
Through the islands of the crown,
And by Copenhagen town

Took their stay.

In arms the Danish shore

Proudly shone ;
By each gun the lighted brand,
In a bold determined hand,
And the Prince of all the land

Led them on !

For Denmark here had drawn

All her might!
From her battle-ships so vast
She had hewn away the mast,
And at anchor to the last

Bade them fight!

Another noble fleet

Of their lino
Rode out, but these were naught
To the batteries, which they brought,
Like Leviathans afloat,

In the brine.

It was ten of Thursday morn,

By the chime,
As they drifted on their path
There was silence deep as death,
And the boldest held his breath

For a time

Ere a first and fatal round

Shook the flood;
Every Dane looked out that day,
Like the red wolf on his prey,
And he swore his flag to sway

O'er our blood.

Not such a mind possessed

England's tar;
'T was the love of noble gamo
Set his oaken heart on flame,
For to him 't was all the samo

Sport and war

All hands and eyes on watch,

As they keep ; By their motion light as wings, By each step that haughty springs, You might know them for the kings

Of the deep!

'Twas the Edgar first that smoto

Denmark's line ;
As her flag the foremost soared,
Murray stamped his foot on board,
And an hundred cannons roared

At the sign!

Three cheers of all the fleet

Sung huzza !
Then, from centre, rear and van,
Every captain, every man,
With a lion's heart began

To the fray.

0, dark grew soon the heavens.

For each gun, From its adamantine lips, Spread a death-shade round the ships, Like a hurricane eclipse

Of the sun.

Three hours the raging firo

Did not slack ;

But the fourth, their signals drear
Of distress and wreck appear,
And the Dane a feeble cheer

Sent us back.

The voice decayed, their shots

Slowly boom.
They ceased — and all is wail,
As they strike the shattered sail,
Or in conflagration pale

Light the gloom.

O! death - it was a sight

Filled our eyes !
But we rescued many a crew
From the waves of scarlet hue,
Ere the cross of England flew

O'er her prize.

Why ceased not here the strife,

0, ye brave?
Why bleeds old England's band,
By the fire of Danish land,
That smites the very hand

Stretched to save ?

But the Britons sent to warn

Denmark's town ;
Proud foes, let vengeance sleep
If another chain-shot sweep-
All your navy in the deep

Shall go down !

Then, peace instead of death

Let us bring ! If you ’ll yield your conquered fleet, With the crews, at England's feet, And make submission meet

To our king!

Then death withdrew ois pall

From the day ;

And the sun looked smiling bright
On a wide and woful sight,
Where the fires of funeral light

Died away.
Yet all amidst her wrecks,

And her gore,
Proud Denmark blest our chief
That he gave her wounds relief ;
And the sounds of joy and grief

Filled her shore.

All round, outlandish cries

Loudly broke ;
But a nobler note was rung,
When the British, old and young,
To their bands of music sung

“ Hearts of oak !"
Cheer! cheer! from park and tower,

London town!
When the king shall ride in stato
From St. James's royal gate,
And to all his peers relate

Our renown!
The bells shall ring! tho day

Shall not close,
But a blaze of cities bright
Shall illuminate the night,
And the wine-cup shine in light

As it flows !

Yet - yet, amid the joy

And uproar,
Let us think of them that sleep
Full many a fathom deep
All beside thy rocky steep,

Elsinore !

Brave hearts, to Britain's weal

Once so true! Though death has quenched your flamo, Yet immortal be your name ! For ye died the death of famo

With Riou !

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