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Slowly and sadly we laid him down,

From the field of his fame fresh and gory;
We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone
But we left him alone with his glory.



No stir in the air, no stir in the sea,
The ship was still as she could be,
Her sails from heaven received no motion,
Her keel was steady in the ocean.

Without either sign or sound of their shock
The waves flow'd over the Inchcape Rock;
So little they rose, so little they fell,
They did not move the Inchcape Bell.

The Abbot of Aberbrothock
Had placed that bell on the Inchcape Rock;
On a buoy in the storm it floated and swung ,
And over the waves its warning rung.

When the Rock was hid by the surge's gwell,
The mariners heard the warning bell;
And then they knew the perilous Rock,
And blest the Abbot of Aberbrothock.

The sun in heaven was shining gay,
All things were joyful on that day;
The sea-birds scream'd as they wheeld rouud,
And there was joyance in their sound.

The bvoy of the Inchcape Bell was seen
A darker speck on the ocean green;
Sir Ralph the Rover walk'd his deck,

And he fixed his eye on the darker speck.
HOEKZEMA, Poetry. 4th Ed.


He felt the cheering power of spring,
It made him whistle, it made him sing;
His heart was mirthful to excess,
But the Rover's mirth was wickedness.

His eye was on the Inchcape float;
Quoth he, "My men, put out the boat,
And row me to the Inchcape Rock;
And I'll plague the Abbot of Aberbrothock.":

The boat is lower'd, the boatmen row,
And to the Inchcape Rock they go;
Sir Ralph bent over from the boat,
And he cut the bell from the Inchcape float.

Down sunk the bell with a gurgling sound,
The bubbles rose and burst around;
Quoth Sir Ralph, “The next who comes to the Rock,
Won't bless the Abbot of Aberbrothock."

Sir Ralph the Rover sail'd away,
He scour'd the seas for many a day;
And now grown rich with plunder'd store,
He steers his course for Scotland's shore.

So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky,
They cannot see the sun on high,
The wind hath blown a gale all day,
At evening it hath died away.

On the deck the Rover takes his stand,
So dark it is they see no land.
Quoth Sir Ralph, "It will be lighter soon
For there is the dawn of the rising moon."

“Canst hear," said one, “the breakers roar?
For methinks we should be near the shore."
“Now, where we are I cannot tell,
But I wish I could hear the Inchcape Bell."

They hear no sound, the swell is strong;
Though the wind hath fallen, they drift along,
Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock,
“O Christ! it is the Inchcape Rock !"

Sir Ralp the Rover tore his hair;
He curst himself in his despair;
The waves rush in on every side,
The ship is sinking beneath the tide.

But even in his dying fear,
One dreadful sound could the Rover hear,
A sound as if with the Inchcape Bell
The devil below was ringing his knell.



A chieftain, to the Highlands bound,

Cries, “Boatman, do not tarry! And I'll give thee a silver pound,

To row us o'er the ferry.”

"Now, who be ye would cross Lochgyle,

This dark and stormy water ?” “Oh! I'm the chief of Ulva's isle,

And this Lord Ullin's daughter.

And fast before her father's men,

Three days we've fled together; For should he find us in the glen,

My blood would stain the heather.

His horsemen hard behind us ride;

Should they our steps discover,
Then who will cheer my bonny bride,

When they have slain her lover?”

Outspoke the bardy Highland wight:

"I'll go, my chief – I'm ready: It is not for your silver bright,

But for your winsome lady:

And, by my word! the bonny bird

In danger shall not tarry;
So, though the waves are raging white,

I'll row you o'er the ferry."

By this the storm grew loud apace;

The water-wraith was shrieking; And in the scowl of heaven each face

Grew dark as they were speaking.

But still, as wilder blew the wind,

And as the night grew drearer, Adown the glen rode armed men;

Their trampling sounded nearer.

“Oh! haste thee, haste!" the lady cries,

"Though tempests round us gather; I'll meet the raging of the skies,

But not an angry father.”
The boat has left a stormy land,

A stormy sea before her,
When, oh! too strong for human hand,

The tempest gathered o'er her.

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And still they rowed amidst the roar

Of waters fast prevailing:
Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore:

His wrath was changed to wailing.

For sore dismayed, through storm and shade

His child he did discover:
One lovely hand she stretched for aid ,

And one was round her lover.

“Come back! come back!" he cried in grief,

“Across this stormy water; And I'll forgive your Highland chief;

My daughter! - O my daughter!"

'Twas vain: the loud waves lashed the shore,

Return or aid preventing:
The waters wild went o'er his child,
And he was left lamenting.



The monk was praying in his cell,

With bowed head praying sore; He had been praying on his knees

For two long hours and more.

When, in the midst, and suddenly

His eyes they opened wide;
And on the ground, behold, he saw

A man's feet him beside!

And almost to the feet came down

A garment wove throughout; It was not like any he had seen

In the countries round about.

His eyes he lifted tremblingly

Until a hand they spied;
A cut from a chisel there they saw,

And another scar beside.

Then up they leaped the face to find;

His heart gave one wild bound
One, and stood still with the awful joy

He had the Master found!

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