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And the bridemaidens whispered, "'Twere Yet the lark's shrill fife may come better by far
35 At the daybreak from the fallow, To have matched our fair cousin with And the bittern sound his drum, young Lochinvar.”
Booming from the sedgy shallow.
Ruder sounds shall none be near, One touch to her hand, and one word in
Guards nor warders challenge here,
Here's no war-steed's neigh and champWhen they reached the hall-door, and the ing, charger stood near;
Shouting clans or squadrons stamping. So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done;
25 So light to the saddle before her he sprung;
While our slumbrous spells assail ye, “She is won! we are gone! over bank, bush, Dream not, with the rising sun, and scaur;1
Bugles here shall sound reveillé. They'll have fleet steeds that follow,”
Sleep! the deer is in his den; quoth young Lochinvar.
Sleep! thy hounds are by thee lying: 30
Sleep! nor dream in yonder glen There was mounting 'mong Græmes of the
How thy gallant steed lay dying.
Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done;
35 There was racing and chasing on Can
Here no bugles sound reveillé. nobie Lee, But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did
BOAT SONG they see. So daring in love, and so dauntless in
Hail to the Chief who in triumph adHave ye e'er heard of gallant like young
Honored and blessed be the ever-green
Long may the tree, in his banner that From THE LADY OF THE LAKE
glances, Flourish, the shelter and grace of our
line! SOLDIER, REST!
Heaven send it happy dew,
Earth lend it sap anew, Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking; Gayly to bourgeon, and broadly to grow, , Dream of battled fields no more,
While every Highland glen
Sends back our shout again,
Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!
5 Hands unseen thy couch are strewing, Fairy strains of music fall,
Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the Every sense in slumber dewing.
fountain, Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,
Blooming at Beltane, in winter to fade;
When the whirlwind has stripped every Dream of fighting fields no more;
leaf on the mountain, Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, Morn of toil, nor night of waking.
The more shall Clan-Alpine exult in her
Moored in the rifted rock, 15 No rude sound shall reach thine ear,
Proof to the tempest's shock, Armor's clang, or war-steed champing,
Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow; Trump nor pibroch summon here
Menteith and Breadalbane, then, Mustering clan or squadron tramping.
Echo his praise again, 1 cliff.
Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!
As he rode down the sanctified bends of
the Bow, Ilk carline was flyting and shaking her
pow; But the young plants of grace they looked couthie and slee,
15 Thinking, luck to thy bonnet, thou
Come fill up my cup, etc. With sour-featured Whigs the Grass
market was crammed As if half the West had set tryst to be
hanged; There was spite in each look, there was
fear in each e'e, As they watched for the bonnets of Bonny
These cowls of Kilmarnock had spits and
The village maid steals through the shade
Her shepherd's suit to hear;
Sings high-born Cavalier.
Now reigns o'er earth and sky;
But where is County Guy?
And lang-hafted gullies to kill Cavaliers; But they shrunk to close-heads and the
causeway was free, At the toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dun
To the Lords of Convention 't was
Claver'se who spoke, "Ere the King's crown shall fall there are
crowns to be broke; So let each Cavalier who loves honor and
me, Come follow the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.
Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can,
5 Come saddle your horses and call up
your men; Come open the West Port and let me
gang free, And it's room for the bonnets of
He spurred to the foot of the proud Castle rock,
25 And with the gay Gordon he gallantly
spoke; “Let Mons Meg and her marrows speak
twa words or three, For the love of the bonnet of Bonny
The Gordon demands of him which way
he goes “Where'er shall direct me the shade of Montrose!
30 Your Grace in short space shall hear
tidings of me, Or that low lies the bonnet of Bonny
“There are hills beyond Pentland and
lands beyond Forth, If there's lords in the Lowlands, there's chiefs in the North;
He waved his proud hand and the trumpets were blown,
45 The kettle-drums clashed and the horse
men rode on, Till on Ravelston's cliffs and on Cler
miston's lea Died away the wild war-notes of Bonny
50 Come open your gates and let me gae
free, For it's up with the bonnets of Bonny
KNOW YE THE LAND?
GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYRON
Know ye the land where the cypress and
myrtle Are emblems of deeds that are done in
their clime? Where the rage of the vulture, the love of
the turtle, Now melt into sorrow, now madden to
crime? Know ye the land of the cedar and vine, 5 Where the flowers ever blossom, the beams
ever shine; Where the light wings of Zephyr, oppressed
with perfume, Wax faint o'er the gardens of Gúl in her
bloom; Where the citron and olive are fairest of
fruit, And the voice of the nightingale never is
WHEN WE TWO PARTED
When we two parted
In silence and tears, Half broken-hearted To sever for years,