The boy obeyed, stationing his slight form so much in shadow, that the expression of his working countenance was not visible to those who sat within the stronger light of the lamp. The instruments then commenced a gentle symphony, which was soon ended; and twice had they begun the air, but still no voice was heard to mingle in the harmony. “Words, Roderick, words; we are but dull interpreters of the meaning of yon flutes.” Thus admonished of his duty, the boy began to sing in a full, rich contralto voice, which betrayed a tremour, however, that evidently formed no part of the air. His words, so far as they might be distinguished, ran as follows:— “The land was lying broad and fair Behind the western sea; And holy solitude was there, And sweetest liberty. The lingering sun, at ev’ning, hung A glorious orb, divinely beaming On silent lake and tree; And ruddy light was o’er all streaming, Mark, man! for thee; O’er valley, lake, and tree! And now a thousand maidens stray, Or range the echoing groves; While, flutt’ring near, on pinions gay, Fan twice ten thousand loves, In that soft clime, at even time, Hope says”—— “Enough of this, Roderick,” impatiently interrupted his master. “There is too much of the Corydon in that song for the humour of a manner. Sing us of the sea and its pleasures, boy; and roll out the strains in such a fashion as may suit a sailor’s fancy.” The lad continued mute, perhaps in disinclination to the task, perhaps from utter inability to comply. “What, Roderick! does the muse desert thee? or is memory getting dull? You see the child is wilful in his melody, and must sing of loves and sunshine or he fails. Now touch us a stronger chord my men, and put life into your cadences, while I troll a sea air for the honour of the ship.” The band took the humour of the moment from their master, (for surely he well deserved the name), sounding a powerful and graceful symphony, to prepare the listeners for the song of the Rover. Those treacherous and beguiling tones which so often stole into his voice when, speaking, did not mislead expectation as to its powers. It proved to be at the same time rich, full, deep, and melodious. Favoured by these material advantages, and aided by an exquisite ear, he rolled out the following stanzas in a manner that was singularly divided between that of the reveller and the man of sentiment. The words were probably original; for they both smacked strongly of his own profession, and were not entirely without a touch of the peculiar taste of the individual All hands, unmoor! unmoor Hark to the hoarse, but welcome sound, Startling the seaman’s sweetest slumbers. The groaning capstan’s labouring round, The cheerful fife’s enliv’ning numbers;. And ling’ring idlers join the brawl, And merry ship-boys swell the call, All hands, unmoor! unmoor!