Without either sign or sound of their shock, The abbot of Aberbrothok Had placed that bell on the Inchcape rock; On a buoy in the storm it floated and swung, And over the waves its warning rung. When the rocks were hid by the surge's swell, The sun in heaven was shining gay, The sea-birds screamed as they wheeled round, The buoy of the Inchcape bell was seen, He felt the cheering power of spring, His eye was on the Inchcape float; Quoth he, 66 My men, put out the boat, And row me to the Inchcape rock, And I'll plague the abbot of Aberbrothok." THE INCHCAPE ROCK. The boat is lowered, the boatmen row, And he cut the bell from the Inchcape float. Down sunk the bell with a gurgling sound, Quoth Sir Ralph, "The next who comes to the rock Wont bless the abbot of Aberbrothok." Sir Ralph the Rover sailed away; He steers his course for Scotland's shore. So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky, On the deck the Rover takes his stand; Quoth Sir Ralph,-"It will be lighter soon, "Can'st hear," said one, “the breakers roar, For methinks we should be near the shore?" "Now where we are I cannot tell, But I wish we could hear the Inchcape bell." They hear no sound; the swell is strong; 89 Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair; TO MY BIRDIE. - Mrs. Southey. HERE's only you an' me, Birdie! here's only you an' me! An' there you sit, you humdrum fowl! Sae mute an' mopish as an owl, — Sour companie! Sing me a little song, Birdie! lift up a little lay! To stun them with your minstrelsie, The lee lang day; An' now we're only twa, Birdie! an' now we 're only twa; 'T were sure but kind and cozie, Birdie ! Dull care awa'. Ye ken when folks are paired, Birdie! ye ken when folks are paired, Life's fair, an' foul, and freakish weather, An' lignt an' lumbring loads, thegither Maun a' be shared; TO MY BIRDIE. 91 An' shared wi' looin' hearts, Birdie! wi' looin hearts and free, Fu' fashious loads may weel be borne ; An' roughest roads to velvet turn, Trod cheerfully. We've all our cares and crosses, Birdie! we've a' our cares an' crosses; But then to sulk an' sit so glum, Hout! tout! what guid o' that can come To mend one's losses? Ye're clipt in wiry fence, Birdie! ye 're clipt in wiry fence, An' aiblins I, gin I mote gang Upo' a wish, wad be or lang Wi' friends far hence; But what's a wish, ye ken, Birdie! but what's a wish, ye ken, Nae cantrip nag, like hers of Fife, Who darnit wi' the auld weird wife, Flood, fell, an' fen. 'T is true ye 're furnished fair, Birdie! 't is true ye 're furnished fair, Wi' a braw pair of bonnie wings Wad lift ye whar yon lav'rock sings High up i' th' air; But then that wire 's sae strang, Birdie! but then that wire 's sae strang! An' I myself, sae seemin' free, Whar fain I'd gang. An' sae we'd baith our wills, Birdie! we'd each our wilfu' way; Whar lav'rocks hover, falcons fly; An' snares an' pitfa's often lie Whar wishes stray. An' ae thing weel I wot, Birdie! an' ae thing weel I wot, There's ane abune the highest sphere Wha cares for a' his creatures here, Wha guards the crownéd king, Birdie! wha guards the crownéd king, An' taketh heed for sic as me, Sae little worth, — an' e'en for thee, Puir witless thing! Sae now, let's baith cheer up, Birdie ! an' sin' we 're only twa Aff han'- let 's ilk ane do our best, To ding that crabbit, cankered pest, Dull care awa'! THE GRASSHOPPER. - Cowley. HAPPY insect! what can be |