The bride kiss'd the goblet; the knight took it up,
He quaffed-off the wine and he threw-down the cup:
She looked-down to blush, and she looked-up to sigh,
With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye.
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar
"Now tread we a measure!" said young Lochinvar .

So stately his form, and so lovely his face,
That never a hall such a galliard did grace;

While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume; And the bridemaidens whisper'd, ""T were better by far To have match'd our fair cousin with young Lochinvar."

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,
When they reach'd the hall door, and the charger stood

near;

So light to-the-croupe the fair lady he swung,

So light to-the-saddle-before-her he sprung!

"She is won! we are gone, over bank - bush and scaur; They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar.

There was mounting 'mong Græmes of the Netherby clan; Forsters Fenwicks and Musgraves, they rode and they

ran:

There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee,
But the lost bride-of-Netherby ne'er did they see.
So daring in love, and so gallant in war,

There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.

The Countny Clergyman.

Goldsmith.

Near yonder copse, where once a garden smiled,
And still where many a garden-flower grows wild;
There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose,
The village preacher's modest mansion rose.
A man he was to-all-the-country dear,
And passing-rich with forty pounds a-year.
Remote-from-towns he ran his godly race,

Nor e'er had chang'd, nor wished to change, his place:
Unskilful he to fawn, or seek for power

By doctrines fashion'd to the varying hour;
Far other aims his heart had learn'd to prize,
More bent to raise the wretched than to rise.
His house was known to all the vagrant train
He chid their wand'rings, but relieved their pain;-
The long-remember'd beggar was his guest,
Whose beard descending swept his aged breast;
The ruin'd spendthrift, nów no longer proud,
Claim'd kindred there, and had his claims allow'd:
The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay,
Sat by his fire, and talk'd the night away;
Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of sorrow done,
Shoulder'd his crutch and show'd how fields were won.
Pleased with his guests, the good man learn'd to glow;
And quite forgot-their-vices in their woe;

Careless their merits or their faults to scan,
His pity gave ere charity began.

Thus to-relieve-the-wretched was his pride, And e'en his failings lean'd to virtue's side; But, in-his-duty prompt at every call,

He watch'd and wept he pray'd and felt for all.
And, as a bird each fond endearment tries
To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies,
He tried each art - reproved each dull delay-
Allured to brighter worlds and led the way.
Beside the bed where parting life was laid,
And sorrow guilt and pain by-turns dismay'd,
The reverend champion stood at his control
Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul;
Comfort came-down the trembling wretch to raise,
And his last faltering accents whisper'd praise.
At church, with meek and unaffected grace
His looks adorn'd the venerable place;
Truth from-his-lips prevail'd with double sway,
And fools who-came-to-scoff remain'd to pray .
The service past, around-the-pious-man
With-ready-zeal each honest rustic ran;

E'en children follow'd with endearing wile,

And pluck'd-his-gown to share the good man's smile. His ready smile a parent's warmth express'd;

Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distress'd: To-them his heart his love his griefs were given,

But all his serious thoughts had rest in Heaven;

As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form,

Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm Though round-its-breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settles on its head.

He seized his country's lyre,

With ardent grasp and strong;

And made his soul-of-fire

Dissolve itself in song.

R

SOUTHEY.

Where Necromancy flings
O'er-Eastern-lands her spell;
Sustained on Fable's wings,
His spirit loves to dwell.

COLERIDGE.

Magician, whose dread spell,
Working in pale moonlight,
From Superstition's cell
Invokes each satellite!

WORDSWORTH.

He hung his harp upon

Philosophy's pure shrine; And, placed by Nature's throne, Composed each placid line.