Then, helm hard-port, right straight he sailed Towards the headland light: The wind it moaned, the wind it wailed, And black, black fell the night. Then burst a storm to make one quail Sudden it came, as sudden went ; The winds were hushed, the waves were spent, And the stars shone overhead. Now, as the morning mist grew thin, The folk on Gloucester shore Saw a little figure floating in, Up rose the cry, "A wreck! a wreck! Pull, mates, and waste no breath! They knew it, though 't was but a speck Upon the edge of death! Long did they marvel in the town At God his strange decree, That let the stalwart skipper drown, And the little child go free! Thomas Bailey Aldrich. ANNIE LAURIE MAXWELTON braes are bonnie And it's there that Annie Laurie Her brow is like the snaw-drift, Like dew on the gowan lying Her voice is low and sweet, Her voice is low and sweet; Unknown. THE BALLAD OF ORIANA My heart is wasted with my woe, Oriana. There is no rest for me below, Oriana. When the long, dun wolds are ribbed with snow, And loud the Norland whirlwinds blow, Oriana, Alone I wander to and fro, Oriana. Ere the light on dark was growing, At midnight the cock was crowing, Winds were blowing, waters flowing, Aloud the hollow bugle blowing, In the yew-wood black as night, Ere I rode into the fight, Oriana, While blissful tears blinded my sight Oriana, I to thee my troth did plight, Oriana. She stood upon the castle wall, Oriana : She watched my crest among them all, She saw me fight, she heard me call, Oriana, Atween me and the castle wall, The bitter arrow went aside, Oriana: The false, false arrow went aside, The damned arrow glanced aside, And pierced thy heart, my love, my bride, Oriana! Thy heart, my life, my love, my bride, Oh! narrow, narrow was the space, Loud, loud rung out the bugle's brays, Oh! deathful stabs were dealt apace, Oriana; But I was down upon my face, Oriana! They should have stabbed me where I lay, Oriana! How could I rise and come away, Oriana? How could I look upon the day? They should have stabbed me where I lay, They should have trod me into clay, O breaking heart that will not break, O pale, pale face so sweet and meek, Thou smilest, but thou dost not speak, I feel the tears of blood arise Up from my heart unto my eyes, Within thy heart my arrow lies, O cursed hand! O cursèd blow! O happy thou that liest low, Oriana! |