MARY'S GHOST. You thought that I was buried deep, But from her grave in Mary-bone They've come and bon'd your Mary. The arm that used to take your arm And both my legs are gone to walk I vow'd that you should have my hand, 351 XXII-BATTLE OF BEAL' AN DUINE. WALTER SCOTT. AT once there rose so wild a yell Forth from the pass in tumult driven, The archery appear: For life for life! their flight they ply- Before that tide of flight and chase, How shall it keep its rooted place, Down, down," cried Mar, " your lances down! Bear back both friend and foe!" Like reeds before the tempest's frown, That scrried grove of lances brown And closely shouldering side to side, They come as fleet as forest deer, Bearing before them, in their course, Like wave with crest of sparkling foam, I heard the lance's shivering crash, BATTLE OF THE BALTIC. I heard the broad sword's deadly clang, But Moray wheeled his rearward rank 66 "I see," he cried, "their column shake- The horsemen dashed among the rout, Were worth a thousand men. As the dark caverns of the deep XXIII-BATTLE OF THE BALTIC. OF Nelson and the north, Sing the glorious day's renown, When to battle fierce came forth All the might of Denmark's crown, And her arms along the deep proudly shone; In a bold, determined hand, 353 CAMPBELL Like leviathans afloat, Lay their bulwarks on the brine; While the sign of battle flew On the lofty British line: It was ten of April morn by the chime But the might of England flush'd O'er the deadly space between. "Hearts of oak," our captains cried; when each gun From its adamantine lips Spread a death-shade round the ships, Like the hurricane eclipse Of the sun. Again again! again! And the havock did not slack, 'Till a feeble cheer the Dane To our cheering sent us back ;— Their shots along the deep slowly boom :- As they strike the shattered sail; Light the gloom. Now joy, old England, raise! For the tidings of thy might, By the festal cities' blaze, While the wine-cup shines in light; By thy wild and stormy steep, Brave hearts! to Britain's pride With the gallant good Riou: ADDRESS TO AN EGYPTIAN MUMMY. Soft sigh the winds of heaven o'er their grave! 355 XXIV.-ADDRESS TO AN EGYPTIAN MUMMY. HORACE SMITH. AND thou hast walked about-how strange a story!— And time had not begun to overthrow Speak!-for thou long enough hast acted dummy, Not like thin ghosts or disembodied creatures, But with their bones, and flesh, and limbs, and features Tell us -for doubtless thou canst recollect,― To whom should we assign the Sphinx's fame ? Was Cheops, or Cephrenes architect Of either pyramid that bears his name? Is Pompey's pillar really a misnomer? Had Thebes a hundred gates, as sung by Homer? Perhaps thou wert a mason,—and forbidden, In Memnon's statue, which at sunrise play'd? Perchance that very hand, now pinion'd flat, Hath hob-a-nobb'd with Pharaoh, glass to glass, |