Here she rais’d her eyes, to the once bright skies,
    For she heard the deep sea groan,
  And her song it stopp’d, and her hands they drop’d,
    Her face grew white as the foam;
  For the lovely blue, was hid from her view,
    By a black and mighty cloud! 
  She saw in each wave, a watery grave,
    And again she sang aloud: 

      “But the clouds are rolling heavy,
      Fitful gusts distend his sail;
      See the whirlpool’s foaming eddy,
      Hear the seagull’s mournful wail.

      “Now his vessel greets the thunder,
      Now she rests on ocean’s bed,
      Where in shrines of pearl and amber,
      Youthful lovers, love, though dead.

      “Gracious Heaven! in mercy spare him,
      Shield him with thine arm of pow’r;
      On thy wings, oh!  Father, bear him
      Through this dark and troubled hour.

      “In yon convent then to-morrow
      Will I give to thee my days;
      Flee this world of grief and sorrow,
      Endless sing thee hymns of praise.

      “But if thou hast bid us sever,
      Till we reach the heavenly shore,
      I will steer my bark, where never,
      Waves nor death shall part us more.

      “We will roam the plains of ocean,
      Tread the sands where rubies shine,
      Drink from starry founts the potion
      Mortals taste, and grow divine.

      “But his vessel’s sinking slowly,
      And mine hour of death is near;
      Yet I shrink not,—­sweet and holy
      Is the end that knows no fear.”

  Scarce the words had died, and the crimson tide,
    Flow’d calm in her heaving breast,
  When she flew to the wave, to share his grave,
    And taste of his final rest. 
  And the fishermen boast, who dwell on that coast,
    That after the ev’ning bell
  Has toll’d the hour, in sleet and in shower,
    They float on a golden shell. 
  And all night they roam, where the breakers foam,
    When the moonbeams streak the waves,
  But when morn awakes and the twilight breaks,
    They glide to their coral caves.

Leeds.

T.W.H.

* * * * *

Manners and Customs.

EARLY INHABITANTS OF BRITAIN.

(To the Editor.)

In your Correspondent Selim’s laudable endeavour to vindicate the ancient inhabitants of this island from the character of barbarians given them by Caesar, he has made some errors, which, with your permission, I will attempt to rectify.  First, I beg leave to dissent from the derivation of the word Druid, “Druidh,” a wise man, as such a word is not to be found in the Welsh language.  In one of your early volumes[5] there is a letter from a Correspondent, deriving the word (in the above language it is written Derwydd) from Dar and Gwydd,