In my bed I died, a Christian,
Hoping straight with Christ to be;
Yet one earthly wish is buried
Deep within the grave with me.
That upon the open ocean
When the third Armada came,
They and I had died together.
Whirled aloft on wings of flame.
Yet 'tis something that they've laid me
In a land without a stain:
Keep it thus, my God and Saviour,
Till I rise from earth again!
W. E. A.
SCOTTISH MELODIES. BY DELTA.
THE MAID OF ULVA.
The hyacinth bathed in the beauty of spring,
The raven when autumn hath darken'd his wing,
Were bluest and blackest, if either could vie
With the night of thy hair, or the morn of thine eye,—
Fair maid of the mountain, whose home, far away,
Looks down on the islands of Ulva's blue bay;
May nought from its Eden thy footsteps allure,
To grieve what is happy, or dim what is pure!