O for a soft and gentle wind!

I heard a landsman cry; But give to me the snoring breeze, And white waves heaving high; And white waves heaving high, my boys, The good ship tight and free-- The world of waters is our home, And merry men are we.

There's tempest in yon horned moon, And lightning in yon cloud; And hark the music, mariners, The wind is piping loud; The wind is piping loud, my boys, The lightning flashing free-- While the hollow oak our palace is, Our heritage the sea.

MY NANIE O

Red rows the Nith 'tween bank and brae, Mirk is the night and rainie O, Though heaven and earth should mix in storm, I'll gang and see my Nanie O; My Nanie O, my Nanie O; My kind and winsome Nanie O, She holds my heart in love's dear bands, And nane can do 't but Nanie O.

In preaching-time sae meek she stands, Sae saintly and sae bonny O, I cannot get ae glimpse of grace, For thieving looks at Nanie O; My Nanie O, my Nanie O; The world's in love with Nanie O; That heart is hardly worth the wear That wadna love my Nanie O.

My breast can scarce contain my heart, When dancing she moves finely O; I guess what heaven is by her eyes, They sparkle sae divinely O; My Nanie O, my Nanie O, The flower o' Nithsdale's Nanie O; Love looks frae 'neath her lang brown hair, And says, I dwell with Nanie O.

Tell not, thou star at grey daylight, O'er Tinwald-tap sae bonny O, My footsteps 'mang the morning dew When coming frae my Nanie O; My Nanie O, my Nanie O; Nane ken o' me and Nanie O; The stars and moon may tell 't aboon, They winna wrang my Nanie O!

CANADIAN BOAT-SONG

THOMAS MOORE

Faintly as tolls the evening chime, Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time.

Soon as the woods on sh.o.r.e look dim, We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn.

Row, brothers, row! the stream runs fast, The rapids are near, and the daylight's past!

Why should we yet our sail unfurl?

There's not a breath the blue wave to curl!

But, when the wind blows off the sh.o.r.e, Oh, sweetly we'll rest our weary oar.

Blow, breezes, blow! the stream runs fast, The rapids are near, and the daylight's past!

Ottawa's tide! this trembling moon Shall see us float o'er thy surges soon.

Saint of this green isle, hear our prayers, Oh, grant us cool heavens and favouring airs.

Blow, breezes, blow! the stream runs fast, The rapids are near, and the daylight's past!

GO WHERE GLORY WAITS THEE

Go where glory waits thee, But while fame elates thee, Oh, still remember me.

When the praise thou meetest To thine ear is sweetest, Oh, then remember me.

Other arms may press thee, Dearer friends caress thee, All the joys that bless thee Sweeter far may be; But when friends are nearest, And when joys are dearest, Oh, then remember me.

When at eve thou rovest By the star thou lovest, Oh, then remember me.

Think, when home returning, Bright we've seen it burning.

Oh, thus remember me.

Oft as summer closes, When thine eye reposes On its lingering roses, Once so loved by thee, Think of her who wove them, Her who made thee love them, Oh, then remember me.

When, around thee dying, Autumn leaves are lying, Oh, then remember me.

And, at night, when gazing On the gay hearth blazing, Oh, still remember me.

Then, should music, stealing All the soul of feeling, To thy heart appealing, Draw one tear from thee; Then let memory bring thee Strains I used to sing thee,-- Oh, then remember me.

THE HARP THAT ONCE THROUGH TARA'S HALLS

The harp that once through Tara's halls, The soul of music shed, Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls As if that soul were fled.

So sleeps the pride of former days, So glory's thrill is o'er, And hearts, that once beat high for praise, Now feel that pulse no more.

No more to chiefs and ladies bright The harp of Tara swells: The chord alone, that breaks at night, Its tale of ruin tells.

Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes, The only throb she gives Is when some heart indignant breaks, To show that still she lives.

RICH AND RARE WERE THE GEMS SHE WORE

Rich and rare were the gems she wore, And a bright gold ring on her wand she bore; But, oh! her beauty was far beyond Her sparkling gems or snow-white wand.

'Lady, dost thou not fear to stray, So lone and lovely, through this bleak way?

Are Erin's sons so good or so cold, As not to be tempted by woman or gold?'

'Sir Knight! I feel not the least alarm, No son of Erin will offer me harm: For, though they love women and golden store Sir Knight! they love honour and virtue more.

On she went, and her maiden smile In safety lighted her round the green isle; And blest for ever is she who relied Upon Erin's honour and Erin's pride.

THE MEETING OF THE WATERS

There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet, As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet; Oh! the last rays of feeling and life must depart, Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart.

Yet it was not that Nature had shed o'er the scene Her purest of crystal and brightest of green; 'Twas not her soft magic of streamlet or hill, Oh! no--it was something more exquisite still.

'Twas that friends, the beloved of my bosom, were near, Who made every dear scene of enchantment more dear, And who felt how the best charms of Nature improve, When we see them reflected from looks that we love.