The dirge of the wave, the note of the bird, and the priest's low tone were blent In the breeze that blew from the moorland, all laden with country scent; But never a thought of the new-mown hay tossing on sunny plains, Or of lilies deep in the wild wood, or roses gemming the lanes, Woke in the hearts of the stern bronzed men who gathered about the grave, Where lay the mate who had fought with them the battle of wind and wave. How boldly he steered the coble across the foaming bar, When the sky was black to the eastward and the breakers white on the scar! How his keen eye caught the squall ahead, how his strong hand furled the sail, As we drove through the angry waters before the raging gale! How cheery he kept the long dark night; and never a parson spoke Good words like those he said to us when at last the morning broke! So thought the dead man's comrades, as silent and sad they stood, While the prayer was prayed, the blessing said, and the dull earth struck the wood; And the widow's sob, and the orphan's wail, jarred through the joyous air; How could the light wind o'er the sea blow on so fresh and fair? How could the gay waves laugh and leap, landward o'er sand and stone, While he, who knew and loved them all, lay lapped in clay alone? But for long, when to the beetling heights the snow-tipped billows roll, When the cod, and the skate, and dogfish dart around the herring shoal; When gear is sorted and sail is set, and the merry breezes blow, And away to the deep-sea harvest the stalwart reapers go, A kindly sigh and a hearty word, they will give to him who lies Where the clover springs, and the heather blooms beneath the northern skies." We regard the following lines on a well-known division of East Yorkshire, as a successful effort on the part of Mrs. Phillips. An August day spent in rambling amongst the leafy lanes of Holderness cannot easily be forgotten. There is a lack of romantic and rugged scenery, but the old farmsteads nestling amongst the trees and the fields of golden grain have a beauty not surpassed in many parts of old England:-- IN HOLDERNESS. "The wind blew over the barley, the wind blew over the wheat, Where the scarlet poppy toss'd her head, with the bindweed at her feet; The wind blew over the great blue sea, in the golden August weather, Till the tossing corn and the tossing waves showed shadow and gleam together. The wind blew over the barley, the wind blew over the oats, The lark sprung up in the sunny sky, and shook his ringing notes; Over the wealth of the smiling land, the sweep of the glittering sea, 'Which is the fairest?' he sang, as he soared o'er the beautiful rivalry.