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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. 20

Ruder sounds shall none be near, One touch to her hand, and one word in Guards nor warders challenge here, her ear,

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. Netherby clan;

Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done; Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they

Think not of the rising sun, rode and they ran:

For at dawning to assail ye There was racing and chasing on Can

Here no bugles sound reveillé. nobie Lee, But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see.

BOAT SONG So daring in love, and so dauntless in

Hail to the Chief who in triumph adHave ye e'er heard of gallant like young

vances! Lochinvar?

Honored and blessed be the ever-green


Long may the tree, in his banner that From THE LADY OF THE LAKE


Flourish, the shelter and grace of our SOLDIER, REST!


Heaven send it happy dew, 5 Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,

Earth lend it sap anew, Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking;

Gayly to bourgeon, and broadly to grow, Dream of battled fields no more,

While every Highland glen Days of danger, nights of waking.

Sends back our shout again, In our isle's enchanted hall,

Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe! 10 Hands unseen thy couch are strewing, Fairy strains of music fall,

Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the

fountain, Every sense in slumber dewing. Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,

Blooming at Beltane, in winter to fade; Dream of fighting fields no more; 10

When the whirlwind has stripped every

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 15

Menteith and Breadalbane, then, Mustering clan or squadron tramping.

Echo his praise again, 1 cliff.

| Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe! 20



Proudly our pibroch has thrilled in Glen

And Bannochar's groans to our slogan

replied; Glen Luss and Ross-dhu, they are smoking

in ruin,
And the best of Loch Lomond lie dead

on her side.
Widow and Saxon maid

25 Long shall lament our raid, Think of Clan-Alpine with fear and with

Lennox and Leven-glen

Shake when they hear again, Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe! 30

Fleet foot on the correi,

Sage counsel in cumber, Red hand in the foray,

How sound is thy slumber! Like the dew on the mountain,

Like the foam on the river, Like the bubble on the fountain,

Thou art gone, and for ever!

Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the

Highlands! Stretch to your oars for the ever-green

Pine! O! that the rose-bud that graces yon is

lands Were wreathed in a garland around him

to twine! O that some seedling gem, 35

Worthy such noble stem,
Honored and blessed in their shadow

might grow!
Loud should Clan-Alpine then

Ring from her deepmost glen, Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe! 40

HARP OF THE NORTH Harp of the North, farewell! The hills

grow dark, On purple peaks a deeper shade descend

ing; In twilight copse the glow-worm lights her

spark, The deer, half-seen, are to the covert

wending. Resume thy wizard elm! the fountain

lending, And the wild breeze, thy wilder min

strelsy; Thy numbers sweet with nature's vespers

blending, With distant echo from the fold and lea, And herd-boy's evening pipe, and hum of

housing bee. Yet once again farewell, thou Minstrel

harp! Yet once again forgive my feeble sway, And little reck I of the censure sharp

May idly cavil at an idle lay. Much have I owed thy strains on life's

long way, Through secret woes the world has never known,

15 When on the weary night dawned wearier

day, And bitterer was the grief devoured

alone. That I o'erlive such woes, Enchantress!

is thine own.

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Hark! as my lingering footsteps slow re

tire, Some Spirit of the Air has waked thy string!

20 'Tis now a seraph bold, with touch of fire, 'Tis now the brush of Fairy's frolic




Receding now, the dying numbers ring | And as I rode by Dalton Hall, 5. Fainter and fainter down the rugged Beneath the turrets high, dell,

A maiden on the castle wall And now the mountain breezes scarcely Was singing merrily: bring

| “Oh, Brignall banks are fresh and fair, A wandering witch-note of the distant And Greta woods are green; spell

I'd rather rove with Edmund there, And now, 'tis silent all!—Enchantress, Than reign our English queen.”— fare thee well!

“If, maiden, thou wouldst wend with me, JOCK OF HAZELDEAN

To leave both tower and town,

Thou first must guess what life lead we 15 “Why weep ye by the tide, ladie?

That dwell by dale and down. Why weep ye by the tide?

And if thou canst that riddle read, I'll wed ye to my youngest son,

As read full well you may And ye sall be his bride;

Then to the greenwood shalt thou speed, And ye sall be his bride, ladie,

As blithe as Queen of May.”- 20 Sae comely to be seen”

Yet sung she: “Brignall banks are fair, But aye she loot the tears down fa'

And Greta woods are green; For Jock of Hazeldean.

I'd rather rove with Edmund there,

Than reign our English queen. “Now let this wilfu' grief be done, And dry that cheek so pale;

“I read you by your bugle-horn, 25 Young Frank is chief of Errington,

And by your palfrey good, And lord of Langley-dale;

I read you for a ranger sworn His step is first in peaceful ha',

To keep the King's greenwood.”His sword in battle keen"

“A ranger, lady, winds his horn, But aye she loot the tears down fa' 15 And 'tis at peep of light: For Jock of Hazeldean.

His blast is heard at merry morn,

And mine at dead of night.”— “A chain of gold ye sall not lack,

Yet sung she: “Brignall banks are fair, Nor braid to bind your hair;

And Greta woods are gay; Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk, I would I were with Edmund there, 35 Nor palfrey fresh and fair;

20 To reign his Queen of May. And you, the foremost o' them a', Shall ride our forest queen ”—

“With burnished brand and musketoon But aye she loot the tears down fa'

So gallantly you come, For Jock of Hazeldean.

I read you for a bold dragoon

That lists the tuck of drum.”-
The kirk was decked at morning-tide, 25 “I list no more the tuck of drum,
The tapers glimmered fair;

No more the trumpet hear,
The priest and bridegroom wait the bride, But when the beetle sounds his hum,
And dame and knight are there.

My comrades take the spear.
They sought her baith by bower and ha'; And oh, though Brignall banks be fair, 45
The lady was not seen!

And Greta woods be gay, She's o'er the Border, and awa'

Yet mickle must the maiden dare Wi' Jock of Hazeldean.

Would reign my Queen of May!


Oh, Brignall banks are wild and fair,

And Greta woods are green,
And you may gather garlands there
Would grace a summer queen.

“Maiden, a nameless life I lead,

A nameless death I'll die:
The fiend, whose lantern lights the mead,

Were better mate than I!
And when I'm with my comrades met,

Beneath the greenwood bough,



What once we were we all forget, 55 As he rode down the sanctified bends of Nor think what we are now.

the Bow, Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair, . Ilk carline was flyting and shaking her And Greta woods are green,

pow; And you may gather garlands there, But the young plants of grace they looked Would grace a summer queen.”

couthie and slee,

15 Thinking, luck to thy bonnet, thou COUNTY GUY

Bonny Dundee!

Come fill up my cup, etc.
Ah! County Guy, the hour is nigh,
The sun has left the lea,

With sour-featured Whigs the GrassThe orange flower perfumes the bower,

market was crammed The breeze is on the sea.

As if half the West had set tryst to be The lark, his lay who thrilled all day, 5 |

hanged; Sits hushed his partner nigh:

There was spite in each look, there was Breeze, bird, and flower confess the hour,

fear in each e'e, But where is County Guy?

As they watched for the bonnets of Bonny

The village maid steals through the shade

Come fill up my cup, etc.
Her shepherd's suit to hear;
To beauty shy by lattice high,

These cowls of Kilmarnock had spits and Sings high-born Cavalier.

had spears, The star of Love, all stars above,

And lang-hafted gullies to kill Cavaliers; Now reigns o'er earth and sky;

But they shrunk to close-heads and the And high and low the influence know- 15

causeway was free, But where is County Guy?

At the toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dun


Come fill up my cup, etc.
To the Lords of Convention 't was
Claver'se who spoke,

He spurred to the foot of the proud Castle "Ere the King's crown shall fall there are

rock, crowns to be broke;.

And with the gay Gordon he gallantly So let each Cavalier who loves honor and

spoke; me,

“Let Mons Meg and her marrows speak Come follow the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. twa words or three, Come fill up my cup, come fill up my

For the love of the bonnet of Bonny can,

Come saddle your horses and call up Come fill up my cup, etc.

your men;
Come open the West Port and let me

The Gordon demands of him which way gang free,

he goesAnd it's room for the bonnets of “Where'er shall direct me the shade of Bonny Dundee!”



Your Grace in short space shall hear Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the tidings of me, street,

Or that low lies the bonnet of Bonny The bells are rung backward, the drums

Dundee. they are beat;

Come fill up my cup, etc. But the provost, douce? man, said, "Just e'en let him be,

“There are hills beyond Pentland and The Gude Town is weel quit of that Deil lands beyond Forth, of Dundee."

If there's lords in the Lowlands, there's Come fill up my cup, etc.

chiefs in the North; I sedate.

? companions.


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There are wild Duniewassals three thou

Pale grew thy cheek and cold, sand times three,


Colder thy kiss;
Will cry hoight for the bonnet of Bonny

Truly that hour foretold

Sorrow to this.
Come fill up my cup, etc.

The dew of the morning “There's brass on the target of barkened

Sunk chill on my browbull-hide;

It felt like the warning There's steel in the scabbard that dangles

Of what I feel now. beside;

Thy vows are all broken, The brass shall be burnished, the steel

And light is thy fame: shall flash free,

I hear thy name spoken,
At a toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dun-

And share in its shame.
Come fill up my cup, etc.

They name thee before me,

A knell to mine ear; “Away to the hills, to the caves, to the A shudder comes o'er merocks

Why wert thou so dear? 20 Ere I own an usurper, I'll couch with the They know not I knew thee, fox;

Who knew thee too well: And tremble, false Whigs, in the midst of Long, long shall I rue thee, your glee,

Too deeply to tell.
You have not seen the last of my bonnet
and me!"

In secret we met-
Come fill up my cup, etc.

In silence I grieve,

That thy heart could forget, He waved his proud hand and the trump

Thy spirit deceive. ets were blown,

If I should meet thee The kettle-drums clashed and the horse

After long years, men rode on,

How should I greet thee?—
Till on Ravelston's cliffs and on Cler-

With silence and tears.
miston's lea
Died away the wild war-notes of Bonny

Come fill up my cup, come fill up my

Know ye the land where the cypress and Come saddle the horses and call up myrtle the men,

Are emblems of deeds that are done in Come open your gates and let me gae their clime? free,

Where the rage of the vulture, the love of For it's up with the bonnets of Bonny the turtle, Dundee!

Now melt into sorrow, now madden to


Know ye the land of the cedar and vine, 5 GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYRON Where the flowers ever blossom, the beams (1788–1824)

ever shine;

Where the light wings of Zephyr, oppressed WHEN WE TWO PARTED

with perfume,

Wax faint o'er the gardens of Gúl in her When we two parted

bloom; In silence and tears,

Where the citron and olive are fairest of Half broken-hearted

fruit, To sever for years,

And the voice of the nightingale never is





1 tanned.

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