"I ca' him nae doot Maukeenzie. Pray wha do ye ca' um, your worship?"
"Is the vessel bound for Ireland?"
"Yea it be, anely frae the gate o' the wind, that says nae to it."
Occasional squalls of wind now arose, the compass veered, the wind became adverse; and the storm, or rather hurricane, of the preceding day threatened to return. Under these gloomy presages
"Short time there were for gratulating speech."
Suddenly sounds like the mournful cadence of the plaintive Æolian harp, were heard above the waves; but no shape, no form, was visible, not even in shadowy indistinctness: but solemn musical sounds, wherever they might have proceeded from, and mocking the human voice, only were heard, sad, slow, and solemn, as the choral chant, De mortuis.
THE SPIRIT OF THE STORM.
LOQUITUR.
Where loud tumultuous tempests rave, And foaming surges daunt the brave; I mount my storm-swept throne, the wave!
When midnight fiends their vigils keep, While lightnings rend the mountain's steep, I, scowling, rise from out the deep!