THE SPECTRE'S CRADLE SONG.

HUSH, my bonny babe!-hush, and be still!
Thy mother's arms shall guard thee from ill;
Far have I borne thee in sorrow and pain,
To drink the breeze of the world again.
The dew shall moisten thy brow so meek,
And the breeze of midnight fan thy cheek;
And soon shall we rest in the how of the hill-
Hush, my bonny babe !-hush, and be still!

For thee have I travail'd in weakness and woe,
The world above and the world below;

My heart was kind, and I fell in the snare,
Thy father was cruel, but thou wert fair.

T

I sinn'd, I sorrow'd-I died for thee,
Then O, my bonny babe, smile on me!
And weep thou not for thy mother's ill—
Hush, my bonny babe !—hush, and be still!

See yon thick clouds of the murky hue,
Yon star that peeps from its window blue
Above yon clouds that are wandering far,
Away and beyond yon little star,—

There's a home of peace that soon shall be thine,
And there shalt thou see thy father and mine,
Away from sorrow, away from ill—

Hush, my bonny babe !-hush, and be still!

The flowers of this world will bud and decay,

The trees of the forest be weeded away,

And all yon stars from the milky way,
But thou shalt bloom for ever and aye.
The time will come I shall follow thee,
But long, long hence that time shall be.
O weep not so for thy mother's ill!—
Hush, my bonny babe !-hush, and be still!

HYMN TO THE GOD OF THE SEA.

THIS and the foregoing songs are copied, with a slight variation, from the Queen's Wake, as pieces that might be successfully set to music.

O THOU, who makest the ocean to flow,
Thou, who walkest the channels below,

To thee the incense of song we heap,

Thou, who knowest not slumber nor sleep,
Journeying with everlasting motion,

Great spirit that movest on the face of the ocean,

To thee !-to thee !-we sing to thee,

God of the western wind! God of the sea!

To thee, who breathest in the bosom'd sail,
Who rulest the shark and the rolling whale,

Who bid'st the billows thy reign deform,

Laugh'st in the whirlwind, sing'st in the storm,
Who flingest the sinner to downward grave,
Who light'st thy lamp on the mane of the wave-
To thee!-to thee!-we sing to thee,

God of the western wind! God of the sea!

To thee, who leadest forth in the air,

The things that be not, are not there,

That rise like mountain amid the sea,

Where mountain was never, and never will be, Who mov'st thy proud and thy pale chaperoon, Mid walks of the angels and ways of the moonTo thee!-to thee !-we sing to thee,

God of the western wind! God of the sea!

To thee, who bid'st those mountains of brine

Softly to sink in the fair moonshine,

And spreadest thy couch of mellow light,

To lure to thy bosom the Queen of the night,
Who weavest the cloud of the ocean dew,

And the mist that sleeps on her breast of blue

To thee!-to thee !—we sing to thee,

God of the western wind! God of the sea!

To thee, whose holy calm is spread

For nymphs of the ocean's wooing bed,
When the murmurs die at the base of the hill,
And the shadows lie rock'd and murmuring still,
And the solan's young and the lines of foam
Are scarcely heaved on thy peaceful home-
To thee!-to thee!-we sing to thee,

God of the western wind! God of the sea!