FITZ-GREENE HALLECK. Yet 't is a brave one, scorning wind and weather, And fitted for thy couch, on field and flood, As Rob Roy's tartan for the Highland heather, Or forest green for England's Robin Is strength a monarch's merit, like a whaler's? Thou art as tall, as sinewy, and as strong As earth's first kings, the Argo's gallant sailors, Heroes in history, and gods in song. Is beauty?-Thine has with thy youth departed; But the love-legends of thy manhood's years, And she who perished, young and brokenhearted, Are But I rhyme for smiles and not for tears. Is eloquence?-Her spell is thine that reaches The heart, and makes the wisest head its sport; 167 And there's one rare, strange virtue in And underneath that face, like summer thy speeches, The secret of their mastery, --they are short. ocean's, Its lip as moveless, and its cheek as clear, Slumbers a whirlwind of the heart's emotions, Love, hatred, pride, hope, sorrow,—all save fear. Love for thy land, as if she were thy daughter, Her pipe in peace, her tomahawk in wars; Hatred-of missionaries and cold water; Pride-in thy rifle-trophies and thy scars; Hope that thy wrongs may be by the Great Spirit Remembered and revenged when thou art gone; Sorrow-that none are left thee to inherit Thy name, thy fame, thy passions, and thy throne! I LOVED to hear the war-horn cry, I stood and saw the morning light, I sailed with storm upon the deep, I love to dream of tears and sighs, Some are away, the dead ones dear, Who thronged with us this ancient hearth, And gave the hour to guileless mirth. Fate, with a stern, relentless hand, Looked in, and thinned our little band; Some like a night-flash passed away, And some sank lingering day by day; HENRY SCOTT RIDDELL. 169 | How life-like, through the mist of years, The quiet graveyard, some lie there,There's fears for them that's far awa’ And cruel ocean has his share. And fykes for them are flitting; But fears and cares, baith grit and sma', And nature's ties are hard to break, When thus they maun be broken; |