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She stood breast-high amid the corn,
On her cheek an autumn flush,
Round her eyes her tresses fell,
And her hat, with shady brim,
Sure, I said, Heav'n did not mean,
THOMAS HOOD A BOY'S SONG
WHERE the pools are bright and deep,
Where the blackbird sings the latest,
Where the mowers mow the cleanest,
Where the hazel bank is steepest,
Why the boys should drive away
But this I know, I love to play
LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER
A CHIEFTAIN to the Highlands bound
Cries “Boatman, do not tarry! And I'll give thee a silver pound
To row us o'er the ferry!”
“Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle,
This dark and stormy water?” "O 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 spoke the hardy Highland wight,
“I'll go, my chief, I'm ready: It is not for your silver bright,
But for your winsome lady:
"And by my word! the bonny bird
In danger shall not tarry; So though the waves are raging white
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.
"O 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 her,
The tempest gather'd o'er her.
And still they row'd amidst the roar
Of waters fast prevailing:
His wrath was changed to wailing.
For, sore dismay'd, through storm and shade
His child he did discover:
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!”
"T was vain: the loud waves lash'd the shore,
Return or aid preventing:
A DESCRIPTION OF THE SPRING
And now all nature seemed in love;