The widowed mother and the fatherless boy, Whom, when the daughters of Arabia named, The fruitful mother of so fair a race; She wanders o'er the wilderness. No tear relieved the burden of her heart; Would wet her hand with tears, At length, collecting, Zeinab turned her eyes The Lord our God is good!' A Moonlight Scene.-From Roderick, the Last of the Goths.' Of flowing water soothes him; and the stars, Which in that brightest moonlight well-nigh quenched, Scarce visible, as in the utmost depth Of yonder sapphire infinite, are seen, Draw on with elevating influence Towards eternity the attempered mind. Musing on worlds beyond the grave, he stands, And to the Virgin Mother silently Breathes forth her hymn of praise. Battle of the Baltic. 1 Of Nelson and the North, Sing the glorious day's renown, And her arms along the deep proudly shone; By each gun the lighted brand, And the Prince of all the land 2. Like leviathans afloat, Lay their bulwarks on the brine; It was ten of April morn by the chime: 3. But the might of England flushed To anticipate the scene; And her van the fleeter rushed O'er the deadly space between. While the billow mournful rolls, Hearts of oak!' our captains cried; And the mermaid's song condoles, when each gun From its adamantine lips Spread a death-shade round the ships, Like the hurricane eclipse Singing glory to the souls Of the brave ! Song. Sir Walter Scott: 1771-1832. Visit of William of Deloraine to Melrose Abbey.—From The Lay of the Last Minstrel,' 1. Short halt did Deloraine make there; 'Who knocks so loud, and knocks so late?' Had gifted the shrine for their souls' repose. 2. Bold Deloraine his errand said; He entered the cell of the ancient priest, To hail the Monk of St Mary's aisle. 3. 'The Ladye of Branksome greets thee by me; And that to-night I shall watch with thee, To win the treasure of the tomb.' 4. And strangely on the Knight looked he, With shirt of hair and scourge of thorn; My knees those flinty stones have worn ; For knowing what should ne'er be known. In ceaseless prayer and penance drie, visor of the helmet endure 5. Again on the Knight look'd the Churchman old, For he had himself been a warrior bold, And fought in Spain and Italy; And he thought on the days that were long since by, Where, cloistered round, the garden lay; The pillared arches were over their head, And beneath their feet were the bones of the dead. 6. Spreading herbs, and flowerets bright, Nor herb, nor floweret, glistened there, The youth in glittering squadrons start; And hurl the unexpected dart. He knew, by the streamers that shot so bright, 7. By a steel-clenched postern door, They entered now the chancel tall; The darkened roof rose high aloof On pillars lofty, and light, and small; Seemed bundles of lances which garlands had bound. . . . 8. The moon on the east oriel shone, Through slender shafts of shapely stone, By foliaged tracery combined; Thou would'st have thought some fairy's hand, 'Twixt poplars straight, the osier wand, In many a freakish knot, had twined; Then framed a spell, when the work was done, The silver light, so pale and faint, Shewed many a prophet, and many a saint, 1' Flower of the lily,' the royal insignia of France. 2Quarter-foil,' a figure disposed in four segments of circles, supposed to resemble an expanded flower of four petals. 3 The projections from which the arches spring. |