The surf now began to redouble its force, As it broke at the foot of the rock; Wave rode upon wave in their hurrying course, The raven flew home, while his croaking so hoarse, As he pass’d, seem’d the surges to mock. Now comes the loud thunder--now flies the bleak rain-- Now flash after flash follows on: In horror poor Allemar looks o’er the main; Now turns he away, and now gazes again,-- There’s the ship--see the flash--’tis a gun! ’Tis the call of distress to the heart of the brave:-- Enough!--he determines to dare Ev’ry fury that rode on the terrible wave, And there, ’midst their horrors, to perish, or save His Ellen--oh, should she be there! He’s away in his bark, and all clear of the shore-- “Holy Mary,” the fishermen pray. He plied at the sail, and he plied at the oar, And he toss’d for an hour in the billows’ uproar; But the ship she was still far away. And he toss’d, and he toss’d on the fathomless grave, In the midst of the mountains of foam, While fast came the night, and still faster the wave;-- Back--back with thy bark, and thyself seek to save, For the ship has already her doom! No--onward he went, till across his dark way He perceived, by the lightning so bright, A plank of the wreck--there a white figure lay, Wash’d over and over by every sea;-- It was Ellen--O God, what a sight! E’er pass’d the red flashes, he seized on his prize-- Oh, think how the lover was blest! He chafed her--he kiss’d her--she open’d her eyes;-- “I’ve saved thee, my Ellen!” poor Allemar cries, As he presses her close to his breast. How deceitful and vain were his hopes and his boast-- He saw not the ill that was nigh; The last ray of twilight in darkness was lost, And, alas! he was more than a mile from the coast-- Not a star could be seen in the sky! “I’ve saved thee, my Ellen!” he wildly repeated-- Life rose in her heart at the sound-- “We are safe,” she replied--but how suddenly fleeted The false light of hope which their love had created!-- The horror of truth was around. Still loud raged the storm, and still wild roll’d the wave-- Will Heav’n not the fond lovers save? They kiss--and they cling--and the shriek:--Oh, dismay!-- Break--break not upon them, dark billow!--away!-- It is past--they are sunk in the wave! THE COUP DE GRACE. “_Pat._ Holloa! Sergeant, I have caught a Tartar. _Sergt._ Then bring him along with you. _Pat._ He won’t come. _Sergt._ Then come without him. _Pat._ He won’t let me. _Sergt._ Ho! ho! is that the way _you_ catch a Tartar?” HIBERNIAN JOKE.