No braver chief could Albion boast

Than he with whom he went ;

Nor ever ship left Albion's coast
With warmer wishes sent :

He loved them both, but both in vain,
Nor him beheld, nor her again.

For long beneath the 'whelming brine, Expert to swim he lay;

Nor soon he felt his strength decline,

Or courage die away;

But waged with death a lasting strife,
Supported by despair of life.

He shouted ;- -nor his friends had failed,
To check the vessel's course,
But so the furious blast prevail'd,
That, pitiless perforce,

They left their outcast mate behind,
And scudded still before the wind.

Some succour yet they could afford :
And such as storms allow,

The cask, the coop, the floated cord,
Delay'd not to bestow :

But he, (they knew) nor ship, nor shore,

Whate'er they gave, should visit more.

Nor, cruel as it seem'd, could he
Their haste himself condemn,
Aware, that flight in such a sea
Alone could rescue them;

Yet bitter felt it still to die,
Deserted, and his friends so nigh!

He long survives, who lives an hour
In ocean self-upheld;

And so long he, with unspent power,
His destiny repell'd:

And ever, as the minutes flew,
Entreated help or cried, Adieu !

At length, his transient respite past,
His comrades, who before,
Had heard his voice in every blast,

Could catch the sound no more; For then, by toil subdued, he drank The stifling wave-and then he sank!

No poet wept him: but the page
Of narrative sincere,

That tells his name, his worth, his age,

Is wet with Anson's tear;

And tears by bards or heroes shed

Alike immortalize the dead!

I therefore purpose not, or dream,

Descanting on his fate,
To give the melancholy theme
A more enduring date;

But misery still delights to trace
Its semblance in another's case.

No voice divine the storm allay'd,
No light propitious shone ;
When snatch'd from all effectual aid,
We perish'd, each alone :
But I beneath a rougher sea,

And whelm'd in deeper gulfs than he!

WILD FLOWERS.

R. Nicholl.

BEAUTIFUL children of the woods and fields !

That bloom by mountain streamlets 'mid the heather,

Or into clusters, 'neath the hazels, gatherOr where by hoary rocks you make your bields, And sweetly flourish on thro' summer weather— I love ye all!

Beautiful flowers! to me ye fresher seem
From the Almighty hand that fashion'd all,
Than those that flourish by a garden-wall;
And I can image ye, as in a dream,

Fair modest maidens, nursed in hamlets smallI love ye all !

Beautiful gems ! that on the brow of earth
Are fix'd, as in a queenly diadem;

Though lowly ye, and most without a name,
Young hearts rejoice to see your buds come forth,
As light e'erwhile into the world came—
I love ye all !

Beautiful things ye are, where'er ye grow !
The wild red rose-the speedwell's peeping eyes,
Our own bluebell-the daisy, that doth rise
Wherever sunbeams fall or winds do blow;

And thousands more, of blessed forms and dyes,
I love ye all !

Beautiful nurslings of the early dew!

Fann'd, in your loveliness, by every breeze, And shaded o'er by green and arching trees: I often wish that I were one of you,

Dwelling afar upon the grassy leas

I love ye all!

Beautiful watchers! day and night ye wake!
The Evening Star grows dim and fades away,
And Morning comes and goes, and then the Day
Within the arms of Night its rest doth take;

But ye are watchful, wheresoe'er we stray—
I love ye all!

Beautiful objects of the wild bee's love!

The wild bird joys your opening bloom to see, And in your native woods and wilds to be. All hearts, to Nature true, ye strangely move; Ye are so passing fair-so passing freeI love ye all!

Beautiful children of the glen and dell—

The dingle deep-the muirland stretching wide, And of the mossy fountain's sedgy side! Ye o'er my heart have thrown a lovesome spell; And, though the worldling, scorning, may deride, I love ye all!

ON MAN'S TWO ENEMIES.

Francis Quarles.

Two potent enemies attend on man,

One's fat and plump, the other lean and wan;