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Oh, lang, lang may the ladyes sit,
Wi' their fans into their hand, Before they see Sir Patrick Spens
Come sailing to the strand.
And lang, lang may the maidens sit,
Wi’ the goud kaims in their hair, A' waiting for their ain dear loves,
For them they 'll see na mair.
Oh, forty miles off Aberdour,
'Tis fifty fathoms deep, And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens, Wi' the Scots lords at his feet.
FOR the tender beech and the sapling oak,
That grow by the shadowy rill,
But this you must know, that as long as they
Thomas Love Peacock. i Note 9,
THE MARINERS OF ENGLAND
YE Mariners of Eugland
The spirits of your fathers
Britannia needs no bulwarks,
When the stormy winds do blow ;
The meteor-flag of England
and feast shall flow
OLD IRONSIDES 1
Ay, tear her tattered ensign down!
Long has it waved on high, And many an eye
has danced to see That banner in the sky; Beneath it rung the battle shout,
And burst the cannon's roar; The meteor of the ocean air
Shall the clouds no more.
Her deck, once red with heroes' blood,
Where knelt the vanquished foe, When winds were hurrying o'er the flood, And waves were white below,
1 Note 10.
No more shall feel the victor's tread,
Or know the conquered knee ; The harpies of the shore shall pluck
The eagle of the sea !
Oh, better that her shattered hulk
Should sink beneath the wave;
And there should be her grave:
Oliver Wendell Holmes.
HEAR what Highland Nora said, 6 The Earlie's son I will not wed,
Should all the race of nature die,
“A maiden's vows," old Callum spoke,
The heather on the mountain's height
The frost-wind soon shall sweep away
“The swan,” she said, “ the lake's clear breast.
May barter for the eagle's nest ;
Still in the water-lily's shade
Sir Walter Scott.
THE SKELETON IN ARMOR
“SPEAK! speak! thou fearful guest!
Who, with thy hollow breast
Comest to daunt me!