The Barren Rock.

A lonely rock

On the sea-shore stood, Its head to heaven,

Its base in the flood: The dews of the morning Bath'd its brow, And the moon-beam play'd On its breast of snow.

The summer breezes
Kiss'd it lightly,

And the sun shone on it-
Brightly, brightly:
But there came not forth
Of its cold, cold breast,
So much as to shield
The seamew's nest.

There came not a leaf,
There came not a spray,
Nor the heather brown,
Nor the lichen gray-
The simplers came not
To pick with care
The healing buds
Of the balsam there.

What ails thee, thou rock,
That still in vain
The spring returns
With its jocund train,

So richly dight,

So gaily sped,
And finds no wreath

On thy sullen head.

I look'd again

And the waters grewThey reach'd its base, They reach'd its brow

Again and again,

With fearful shock,

The billows broke

O'er the lonely rock.

But it trembled not

As it pass'd them through; And it rose in smiles As the waves withdrew, And its brow was deck'd With gems so bright, They seem'd like drops Of the rainbow's light.

'Tis well-and so

O'er some beside

Adversity flows

With as rough a tide

It rifles the heart

Of the joys it bore,

And it comes so oft

They will grow no more.

8 But it leaves it firm,
It leaves it bright,
It leaves it deck'd
With unearthly light,
In hallow'd tears,
Serene to stand
As the lonely rock
On the cold sea-strand.

The Three Fishers.

Three fishers went sailing away to the west,
Away to the west as the sun went down;
Each thought on the woman who loved him the b
And the children stood watching them out of the to
For men must work; and women must weep,
And there's little to earn, and many to keep,
Though the harbour bar be moaning.

Three wives sat up in the lighthouse tower, And trimm'd the lamps as the sun went down: They look'd at the squall, and they look'd at

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And the night-rack came sailing up ragged a But men must work, and women must weep, Though storms be sudden, and waters deep,

And the harbour bar be moaning.

Three corpses lay out on the shining sands,
In the morning gleam as the tide went down,
And the women are weeping and wringing their han
For those who will never come home to the town.

For men must work, and women must weep, And the sooner its over, the sooner to sleep, And good-bye to the bar and its moaning.

The Tower of Bottreaux.

"The Church at Boscastle, in Cornwall, has no bells, while the neighbouring tower of Tintagel contains a fine peal of six. It is said that a peal of bells for Boscastle, formerly Bottreaux. was once cast at a foundry on the Continent, and that the ship which was bringing them went down in sight of the church-yard. The Cornish legend relative to the event is embodied in the following verses. Book of Days.

Tintagel bells ring o'er the tide,
The boy leans on his vessel's side,
He hears that sound, and dreams of home,
Soothe the wild orphan of the foam:
"Come to thy God in time,"
Thus saith their pealing chime :
Youth, manhood, old age past,
Come to thy God at last."

But why are Bottreaux's echoes still?
Her tower stands proudly on the hill,
Yet the strange chough that home hath found,
The lamb lies sleeping on the ground.
"Come to thy God in time,"

Should be her answering chime :
"Come to thy God at last,"
Should echo on the blast.

The ship rode down with courses free,
The daughter of a distant sea,
Her sheets were loose, her anchor stored,
The merry Bottreaux bells on board.

"Come to thy God in time,"
Rang out Tintagel chime;
"Youth, manhood, old age, past,
Come to thy God at last.

The pilot heard his native bells Hung on the breeze in fitful spells, "Thank God," with reverend bow, he cried "We make the shore with evening's tide." "Come to thy God in time," It was his marriage chime: "Youth, manhood, old age past, Come to thy God at last."

"Thank God, thou whining knave, on land But thank at sea the steerman's hand," The captain cries above the gale, "Thank the good ship and ready sail." "Come to thy God in time," Sad gave the boding chime: "Come to thy God at last," Boomed heavy on the blast.

Up rose the sea as if it heard
The mighty Master's signal word.
What thrills the captain's whitening lip?
The death-groans of his sinking ship!
"Come to thy God in time,"
Swung deep the funeral chime:
"Grace, mercy, kindness past,
Come to thy God at last."