But, even in his dying fear,

One dreadful sound could the Rover hear, A sound as if, with the Inchcape Bell, The Devil below was ringing his knell. ROBERT SOUTHEY,

CUMNOR HALL.

THE dews of summer night did fall, The moon, sweet regent of the sky, Silver'd the walls of Cumnor Hall

And many an oak that grew thereby.

Now naught was heard beneath the skies,
The sounds of busy life were still,
Save an unhappy lady's sighs,

That issued from that lonely pile.

"Leicester," she cried, "is this thy love
That thou so oft has sworn to me,
To leave me in this lonely grove,
Immured in shameful privity?

"No more thou com'st with lover's speed, Thy once-belovèd bride to see,

But be she alive, or be she dead,

I fear, stern Earl, 's the same to thee.

"Not so the usage I received

When happy in my father's hall; No faithless husband then me grieved, No chilling fears did me appall.

"I rose up with the cheerful morn,

No lark more blithe, no flower more gay, And like the bird that haunts the thorn, So merrily sung the livelong day.

"If that my beauty is but small,

Among court ladies all despised, Why didst thou rend it from that hall, Where, scornful Earl, it well was prized?

"And when you first to me made suit,

How fair I was you oft would say! And, proud of conquest, pluck'd the fruit, Then left the blossom to decay.

"Yes! now neglected and despised, The rose is pale, the lily's dead,

But he that once their charms so prized Is sure the cause those charms are fled.

"For know, when sickening grief doth prey,

And tender love's repaid with scorn,
The sweetest beauty will decay,—
What floweret can endure the storm?

At court, I'm told, is beauty's throne,
Where every lady's passing rare,
That Eastern flowers, that shame the sun,
Are not so glowing, not so fair.

"Then, Earl, why didst thou leave the beds Where roses and where lilies vie, To seek a primrose, whose pale shades Must sicken when those gauds are by? "Mong rural beauties I was one,

Among the fields wild flowers are fair; Some country swain might me have won, And thought my beauty passing rare. "But, Leicester (or I much am wrong), Or 'tis not beauty lures thy vows; Rather ambition's gilded crown

Makes thee forget thy humble spouse.

"Then, Leicester, why, again I plead (The injured surely may repine), Why didst thou wed a country maid, When some fair princess might be thine? "Why didst thou praise my humble charms,

And, oh! then leave them to decay? Why didst thou win me to thy arms,

Then leave to mourn the livelong day?

"The village maidens of the plain

Salute me lowly as they go; Envious they mark my silken train, Nor think a countess can have woe.

"The simple nymphs! they little know.

How far more happy's their estate; To smile for joy, than sigh for woeTo be content, than to be great.

"How far less blest am I than them?

Daily to pine and waste with care! Like the poor plant, that, from its stem Divided, feels the chilling air.

"Nor, cruel Earl! can I enjoy

The humble charms of solitude; Your minions proud my peace destroy, By sullen frowns or pratings rude.

“Last night, as sad I chanced to stray,

The village death-bell smote my ear; They wink'd aside, and seem'd to say, 'Countess, prepare, thy end is near!'

"And now, while happy peasants sleep,
Here I sit lonely and forlorn;
No one to soothe me as I weep,
Save Philomel on yonder thorn.

"My spirits flag-my hopes decay

EDWARD, EDWARD.

QUHY dois zour brand sae drop wi' bluid,
Edward, Edward?
Quhy dois zour brand sae drop wi' bluid?
And quhy sae sad gang zee, O?
O, I hae kill'd my hauke sae guid,
Mither, mither:

O, I hae kill'd my hauke sae guid:
And I had nae mair bot hee, O.

ear;

And many a boding seems to say, 'Countess, prepare, thy end is near!'

Thus sore and sad that lady grieved, In Cumnor Hall, so lone and drear; And many a heartfelt sigh she heaved, And let fall many a bitter tear.

And ere the dawn, of day appear'd,

In Cumnor Hall, so lone and drear, Full many a piercing scream was heard, And many a cry of mortal fear.

The death-bell thrice was heard to ring, An aërial voice was heard to call, And thrice the raven flapp'd its wing Around the towers of Cumnor Hall.

The mastiff howl'd at village door,

The oaks were shatter'd on the green; Woe was the hour-for never more That hapless Countess e'er was seen.

And in that manor now no more
Is cheerful feast and sprightly ball;
For ever since that dreary hour

Have spirits haunted Cumnor Hall.

The village maids, with fearful glance, Avoid the ancient moss-grown wall; Nor ever lead the merry dance,

Among the groves of Cumnor Hall.

Full many a traveller oft hath sigh'd,
And pensive wept the Countess' fall,
As wandering onward they've espied
The haunted towers of Cumnor Hall.
WILLIAM JULIUS MICKLE.

Edward, Edward. Zour haukis bluid was nevir sae reid,

My deir son I tell thee, O. O, I hae kill'd my reid-roan steid, Mither, mither:

O, I hae kill'd my reid-roan steid, That erst was sae fair and free, O.

Zour steid was auld, and ze hae gat mair,

Edward, Edward:

Zour steid was auld, and ze hae gat mair,
Sum other dule ze drie, O.
O, I hae kill'd my fadir deir,

Mither, mither:

O, I hae kill'd my fadir deir,
Alas! and wae is mee, O!

And quhatten penance wul ze drie for
that,
Edward, Edward?
And quhatten penance will ze drie for that?
My deir son, now tell me, O.
Ile set my feit in zonder boat,

Mither, mither:

Ile set my feit in zonder boat, And Ile fare ovir the sea, O.

And quhat wul ze doe wi' zour towirs and zour ha',

Edward, Edward? And quhat wul ze doe wi' zour towirs and zour ha',

That ware sae fair to see, O? Ile let thame stand til they doun fa', Mither, mither: Ile let thame stand til they doun fa', For here nevir mair maun I bee, O.

zour wife,

Edward, Edward?

And quhat wul ze leive to zour bairns and zour wife,

Quhan ze gang ovir the sea, O?

The warldis room, let thame beg throw life,

Mither, mither:

The warldis room, let thame beg throw life,

For thame nevir mair wul I see, 0.

And quhat wul ze leive to zour ain mither deir,

Edward, Edward?

And quhat wul ze leive to zour ain mither deir?

My deir son, now tell me, O.
The curse of hell frae me sall ze beir,
Mither, mither:
The curse of hell frae me sall ze beir,
Sic counseils ze gave to me, O.

AUTHOR UNKNOWN,

LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.

A CHIEFTAIN, to the Highlands bound,
Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry!
And I'll give thee a silver pound

66

To row us o'er the ferry."

Now, who be ye would cross Loch Gyle, This dark and stormy water?"

"Oh! I'm the chief of Ulva's isle, And this-Lord Ullin's daughter. "And fast before her father's men, Three days we've fled together, For should he find us in the glen,

My blood would stain the heather. "His horsemen hard behind us ride; Should they our steps discover, Then who will cheer my bonny bride When they have slain her lover?" Out spake the hardy Highland wight, "I'll go, my chief-I'm ready:

It is not for your silver bright,

I'll row you o'er the ferry."

By this, the storm grew loud apace,

The water-wraith was shrieking; And, in the scowl of heaven, each face Grew dark as they were speaking.

But still, as wilder blew the wind, And as the night grew drearer, Adown the glen rode armèd men, Their trampling sounded nearer. "Oh haste thee, haste!" the lady cries, "Though tempests round us gather, I'll meet the raging of the skies,

But not an angry father."

The boat has left a stormy land,

A stormy sea before herWhen, oh, too strong for human hand, The tempest gather'd o'er her.

And still they row'd, amidst the roar
Of waters fast prevailing:
Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore,

His wrath was changed to wailing.

For, sore dismay'd, through storm and shade,

His child he did discover;
One lovely arm she stretch'd for aid,
And one was round her lover.

"Come back! come back!" he cried in grief,

"Across this stormy water: And I'll forgive your Highland chief, My daughter! O my daughter!"

'Twas vain: the loud waves lash'd the shore,

Return, or aid preventing:
The waters wild went o'er his child,
And he was left lamenting.

THOMAS CAMPBELL.

THE DOWIE DENS OF YARROW.

LATE at e'en, drinking the wine,
And ere they paid the lawing,
They set a combat them between,
To fight it in the dawing.

"Oh stay at hame, my noble lord!

Oh stay at hame, my marrow! My cruel brother will you betray On the dowie houms of Yarrow."

"Oh fare ye weel, my ladye gaye!

Oh fare ye weel, my Sarah! For I maun gae, though I ne'er return Frae the dowie banks o' Yarrow."

She kiss'd his cheek, she kaim'd his hair,
As oft she had done before, oh;
She belted him with his noble brand,
And he's away to Yarrow.

As he gaed up the Tennies bank,
I wot he gaed wi' sorrow,

Till, down in a den, he spied nine arm'd

men,

On the dowie houms of Yarrow.

"Oh come ye here to part your land, The bonnie forest thorough?

Or come ye here to wield your brand,—
On the dowie houms of Yarrow?"-

"I come not here to part my land,
And neither to beg nor borrow;
I come to wield my noble brand,
On the bonnie banks of Yarrow.

"If I see all, ye're nine to ane;

And that's an unequal marrow:

Yet will I fight, while lasts my brand, On the bonnie banks of Yarrow."

Four has he hurt, and five has slain,

On the bonnie braes of Yarrow,

Till that stubborn knight came him behind,

And ran his body thorough.

"But in the glen strive armèd men; They've wrought me dole and sorrow; They've slain-the comeliest knight they've slain

He bleeding lies on Yarrow."

As she sped down yon high, high hill,
She gaed wi' dole and sorrow,
And in the den spied ten slain men,
On the dowie banks of Yarrow.

She kiss'd his cheeks, she kaim'd his hair,
She search'd his wounds all thorough;
She kiss'd them, till her lips grew red,
On the dowie houms of Yarrow.

"Now haud your tongue, my daughter dear!

For a' this breeds but sorrow; I'll wed ye to a better lord

Than him ye lost on Yarrow."—

"Oh haud your tongue, my father dear!
Ye 'mind me but of sorrow;

A fairer rose did never bloom
Than now lies cropp'd on Yarrow."

AUTHOR UNKNOWN.

THE BRAES OF YARROW. BUSK ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny bride, Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow, Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny bride, And think nae mair on the Braes of

Yarrow.

Where gat ye that bonny bonny bride?
Where gat ye that winsome marrow?
I gat her where I dare na weil be seen,
Pu'ing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow.

And tell your sister Sarah,

To come and lift her leafu' lord;
He's sleepin' sound on Yarrow."-

"Yestreen I dream'd a dolefu' dream: I fear there will be sorrow!

I dream'd I pu'd the heather green,
Wi' my true love, on Yarrow.

"O gentle wind, that bloweth south, From where my love repaireth, Convey a kiss from his dear mouth, And tell me how he fareth!

bride,

Weep not, weep not, my winsome mar

row;

Nor let thy heart lament to leive,

Pu'ing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow.

Why does she weep, thy bonny bonny bride?

Why does she weep, thy winsome marrow?

And why dare ye nae mair weil be seen

Pu'ing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow?

Fair was thy luve, fair fair indeed thy luve,

In flow'ry bands thou didst him fetter;

sorrow?

And why yon melancholious weids

Hung on the bonny birks of Yarrow?

What's yonder floats on the rueful rueful flude?

What's yonder floats? Oh dule and sorrow!

Oh 'tis he the comely swain I slew

Upon the duleful Braes of Yarrow.

Than me he never luv'd thee better.

Busk ye, then busk, my bonny bonny bride,

Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow, Busk ye, and luve me on the banks of Tweed,

And think nae mair on the Braes of Yarrow.

tears,

His wounds in tears with dule and sorrow;

And wrap his limbs in mourning weids,

And lay him on the Braes of Yarrow.

Then build, then build, ye sisters, sisters sad,

Ye sisters sad, his tomb with sorrow; And weep around in waeful wise

His hapless fate on the Braes of Yar

row.

How can I busk a winsome marrow? How luve him upon the banks of Tweed, That slew my luve on the Braes of Yarrow?

O Yarrow fields, may never never rain Nor dew thy tender blossoms cover, For there was basely slain my luve,

My luve, as he had not been a lover.

The boy put on his robes, his robes of

green,

His purple vest, 'twas my awn sewing: