At last, when care had banish'd sleep,
He saw one morning, dreaming, doating,
An empty hogshead from the deep
Come shoreward floating.

He hid it in a cave, and wrought
The live-long day, laborious, lurking,
Until he launch'd a tiny boat,
By mighty working.

Oh, dear me! 'twas a thing beyond
Description!—such a wretched wherry,
Perhaps, ne'er ventured on a pond,
Or cross'd a ferry.

For ploughing in the salt sea field,
It would have made the boldest shudder;
Untarr'd, uncompass'd, and unkeel'd,-
No sail-no rudder.

From neighbouring woods he interlaced
His sorry skiff with wattled willows;
And thus equipp'd he would have pass'd
The foaming billows.

A French guard caught him on the beach,
His little Argo* sorely jeering;

Till tidings of him chanced to reach

Napoleon's hearing.

*ARGO.-A fabled ship, in which, it is said, the Argonauts, under Jason, made an expedition in search of the Golden Fleece.

With folded arms Napoleon stood,

Serene alike in peace and danger,
And, in his wonted attitude,

Address'd the stranger.

"Rash youth, that wouldst yon channel pass

On twigs and staves so rudely fashion'd, Thy heart with some sweet English lass Must be impassion'd."

"I have no sweetheart," said the lad; 66 But, absent

years

from one another, Great was the longing that I had

To see my mother."

"And so thou shalt," Napoleon said,
"You've both my favour justly won;
A noble mother must have bred
So brave a son."

He gave the tar a piece of gold,
And, with a flag of truce, commanded
He should be shipped to England old,
And safely landed.

Our sailor oft could scantly shift
To find a dinner, plain and hearty;

But never changed the coin and gift

Of Buonaparte.

ང་

Lord Allin's Daughter.

CHIEFTAIN to the Highlands bound,

Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry!

And I'll give thee a silver pound

To row us o'er the ferry."

"Now who be ye would cross Loch-Gyle, This dark and stormy water?" "Oh, I'm the chief of Ulva's Isle, And this Lord Ullin's daughter.

"And fast before her father's men Three days we've fled together; For should he find us in the glen,

My blood would stain the heather;

"His horsemen hard behind us ride;
Should they our steps discover,
Then who would cheer my bonny bride,
When they have slain her lover?"

"I'll

Out spoke the hardy Highland wight,
go, my chief-I'm ready:
It is not for your silver bright,

But for your winsome lady :

"And, by my word! the bonny bird In danger shall not tarry;

So, though the waves are raging white, I'll row you o'er the ferry."

By this the storm grew loud арасе, The water-wraith was shrieking; And, in the scowl of heaven, each face Grew dark as they were speaking.

But still as wilder blew the wind,
And as the night grew drearer,
Adown the glen rode armèd men,
Their trampling sounded nearer.

"O haste thee, haste!" the lady cries, "Though tempests round us gather, I'll meet the raging of the skies, But not an angry father."

The boat has left a stormy land,
A stormy sea before her—

When, oh! too strong for human hand,
The tempest gathered o'er her.

And still they rowed, amidst the roar
Of waters fast prevailing:

Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore

His wrath was changed to wailing

For sore dismayed, through storm and shade,

His child he did discover!

One lovely arm was stretched for aid,

And one was round her lover.

"Come back! come back!" he cried in grief,

"Across this stormy water;

And I'll forgive your Highland chief-
My daughter!-oh! my daughter!"

'Twas vain: the loud waves lashed the shore, Return or aid preventing:

The waters wild went o'er his child-
And he was left lamenting.

The Battle of Hohenlinden."

N Linden, when the sun was low,
All bloodless lay the untrodden snow,
And dark as winter was the flow

Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

But Linden saw another sight,

When the drum beat at dead of night,
Commanding fires of death to light

'The darkness of her scenery.

* HOHENLINDEN.-A village in Bavaria, where the French, under Moreau, defeated the Austrians and Bavarians, A.D. 1800. †ISER.-A tributary of the Danube.