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Aisle, a passage in a church.

Hist! hush, atten

tion, silence, listen.

We climbed on the graves, on the stones
worn with rains,

And we gazed up the aisle* through the
small leaded panes.

*

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She sate by the pillar; we saw her clear:
"Margaret, hist! come quick, we are here.
Dear heart," I said, we are long alone.
The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan."
But, ah, she gave me never a look,

Sealed, looking with For her eyes were sealed* to the holy book.

a fixed and attentive gaze.

Humming town, at a distance the noise of a town sounds like the humming of bees in a hive.

Shuttle, an instrument used for shoot

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"Loud prays the priest; shut stands the door." Come away, children, call no more.

Come away, come down, call no more.

Down, down, down,

Down to the depths of the sea.

She sits at her wheel in the humming town,*
Singing most joyfully.

Hark, what she sings: "Oh joy, oh joy,

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For the humming street, and the child with 90
its toy,

For the priest, and the bell, and the holy well.
For the wheel where I spun,

And the blessed light of the sun."

And so she sings her fill,

Singing most joyfully,

*

Till the shuttle falls from her hand,

And the whizzing wheel stands still.

woof between the She steals to the window, and looks at the sand;

ing the thread of the

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And anon there breaks a sigh,
And anon there drops a tear,
From a sorrow-clouded eye,
And a heart sorrow-laden,*

A long, long sigh.

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*

For the cold strange eyes of a little Mermaiden,
And the gleam of her golden hair.

Come away, away, children.
Come, children, come down.
The hoarse wind blows colder;
Lights shine in the town.

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We shall see, while above us

The waves roar and whirl,*
A ceiling of amber,
A pavement of pearl.
Singing, "Here came a mortal,
But faithless * was she.
And alone dwell for ever
The kings of the sea."

But, children, at midnight,
When soft the winds blow;
When clear falls the moonlight:
When spring-tides * are low :
When sweet airs come seaward
From heaths starred with broom;
And high rocks throw mildly
On the blanched * sands a gloom :
Up the still, glistening beaches,
Up the creeks we will hie;
Over banks of bright seaweed
The ebb-tide* leaves dry.

*

*

*

We will gaze, from the sand-hills,
At the white, sleeping town;
At the church on the hill-side-
And then come back down.

*

Singing, "There dwells a loved one,
But cruel is she.

She left lonely for ever

The kings of the sea."

Whirl, to go round and round, to toss about in a confused manner.

Faithless, false, not true to her promise.

Springtides, those which rise higher than ordinary tides, after new and full moon.

Broom, a wild evergreen shrub, with leafless pointed twigs. Blanched, to make white.

Creek, a small inlet
of the sea.

Hie, to hasten.
Ebb-tide, the going
back or retiring of the
tide.

Sleeping town, the in-
habitants have re-
tired to rest.

THE SKY-LARK.-Hogg.

He

JAMES HOGG (1770-1835) was born in Ettrick Forest in Selkirkshire. was a farmer and shepherd, and hence called the Ettrick Shepherd, but he was more successful as a poet. Chief work: The Queen's Wake, containing the beautiful fairy ballad Kilmeny; he also wrote songs and novels.

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* Belshazzar was the last of the Babylonian kings. This poem is founded on the account given of the overthrow of Babylon in the Book of Daniel.

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"Let the men of lore* appear,

The wisest of the earth,

*

And expound the words of fear,
Which mar
* our royal mirth."

Chaldea's seers * are good,
But here they have no skill;
And the unknown letters stood
Untold and awful still.
And Babel's men of age

*

Are wise and deep in lore
But now they were not sage,
They saw-but knew no more.
A captive* in the land,

A stranger and a youth,
He heard the King's command,
He saw that writing's truth.
The lamps around were bright,
The prophecy* in view;
He read it on that night,-
The morrow proved it true.
66 Belshazzar's grave is made,
His kingdom passed away,
He, in the balance weighed,

Is light and worthless clay.
The shroud his robe of state,
His canopy * the stone:
The Mede is at his gate!

The Persian* on his throne!"

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THE BATTLE OF HOHENLINDEN.*-Campbell.

ON Linden, when the sun was low,
All bloodless lay th' untrodden snow;
And dark as winter was the flow

Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

But Linden showed another sight,
When the drum beat at dead of night,
Commanding fires of death* to light
The darkness of her scenery.*

Fires of death, the discharge of the artillery, which carried death and destruction among the troops. Scenery, the appearance of the country.

* Hohenlinden, or Linden Heights, is a small village in Bavaria, about six leagues from Munich. It is situated between the Iser and the Inn, tributaries of the Danube. The Austrians and Bavarians were defeated here by the French on the 3d December 1800.

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by the firing of the artillery.

Riven, torn asunder; here it refers to the ground being torn up with the cannon balls.

Frank, the ancient
name for the French,
who in the 3d cen-
tury overthrew the
Roman dominion in
Gaul, and settled
there.

Huns, or, as they are
now called, Magyars,
are the inhabitants
of Hungary, and be-
long to the Mongol
race. They form the
chief portion of the
Austrian empire.
Munich, the capital
of Bavaria, on the
river Iser. It is a
very fine city, and in
its palace there is
one of the finest col-
lections of paintings
in Europe.
Sepulchre, a place of
burial, a tomb.

By torch and trumpet fast arrayed,
Each horseman drew his battle-blade;
And furious every charger neighed,

To join the dreadful revelry.*

Then shook the hills* with thunder riven ;*
Then rushed the steed to battle driven;
And, louder than the bolts of heaven,

Far flashed the red artillery.

But redder yet those fires shall glow
On Linden's hills of stainèd snow;
And bloodier yet shall be the flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

'Tis morn-but scarce yon level sun
Can pierce the war-cloud rolling dun,
Where furious Frank* and fiery Hun

Shout 'mid their sulphurous canopy.

The combat deepens: On, ye brave!
Who rush to glory or the grave!
Wave, Munich,* all thy banners wave,

And charge with all thy chivalry!

Few, few shall part where many meet!
The snow shall be their winding-sheet;
And every turf beneath their feet
Shall be a soldier's sepulchre !

*

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