11
Then to our faithful mariners
The social can shall flow,
Who swept through the deep,
While the stormy winds did blow.
While the stormy winds did blow,
While the stormy winds did blow,
While the battle raged long and load,
And the storms of war did blow.
CONNEL AND FLORA.
Dark lowers the night o'er the wide stormy main,
Till mild rosy morning rise cheerful again
Alas! morn returns to revisit the shore;
But Connel returns to his Flora no more.
For see o'er yon mountain the dark cloud of death,
And Connel's lone cottage lies low on the heath,
While bloody and pale, on a far distant shore,
He lies to return to his Flora no more.
Ye light-fleeting spirits that glide o'er yon steep!
Oh! would ye but waft me across the wild deep!
There fearless I'd mix in the battle's loud roar;
I'd die with my Connel, and leave him no more!
THE WAY-WORN TRAVELLER.
Faint and wearily, the way-worn traveller
Plods uncheerily, afraid to stop;
Wandering drearily, a sad unraveller
Of the mazes t'ward the mountain’s top.
