Sits lightly on his head,
We'll pledge, in solemn silence round,
THE MEMORY OF THE DEAD!

The sparkling juice now pour,
With fond and liberal hand;
Oh! raise the laughing rim once more,
Here's to our FATHER LAND!
Up, every soul that hears,
Hurra! with three times three;
And shout aloud, with deafening cheers,
The "ISLAND OF THE FREE."

Then fill the wine-cup high,
The sparkling liquor pour;
For we will care and grief defy,
They ne'er shall plague us more.
And ere the snowy foam
From off the wine departs,
The precious draught shall find a home--
A dwelling in our hearts.


* * * * *


THE SNOW-WHITE VIRGIN.

(_From a Winter Rhapsody. By Christopher North. Fytte III_.)