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Where the lamps quiver
With many a light
Houseless by night.
Made her tremble and shiver ;
Or the black flowing river :
Swift to be hurl'd
Out of the world ! In she plunged boldly, No matter how coldly
The rough river ran, Over the brink of it,Picture it, think of it,
Dissolute Man ! Lave in it, drink of it
Then, if you can ! Take her up tenderly,
Lift her with care ; Fashion'd so slenderly,
Young, and so fair
Staring so blindly !
Thro' muddy impurity, As when with the daring Last look of despairing
Fix'd on futurity.
Into her rest.
Cross her hands humbly,
Over her breast !
Owning her weakness,
Her evil behaviour,
105 Her sins to her Saviour !
O snatch'd away in beauty's bloom !
But on thy turf shall roses rear
Their leaves, the earliest of the year, And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom :
And oft by yon blue gushing stream
Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head,
And lingering pause and lightly tread ; Fond wretch ! as if her step disturb'd the dead !
Away! we know that tears are vain,
That Death nor heeds nor hears distress :
Or make one mourner weep the less ?
When maidens such as Hester die,
With vain endeavour.
And her together.
A springy motion in her gait,
That flush'd her spirit :
She did inherit.
Her parents held the Quaker rule,
Nature had blest her.
Ye could not Hester.
My sprightly neighbour ! gone before
Some summer morning-
He is lost to the forest,
When our need was the sorest.
From the raindrops shall borrow,
To Duncan no morrow !
The hand of the reaper
Takes the ears that are hoary,
Wails manhood in glory.
Waft the leaves that are serest,
When blighting was nearest.
Fleet foot on the correi,
Sage counsel in cumber,
20 Like the dew on the mountain,
Like the foam on the river,
SIR W. SCOTT.
Her breathing soft and low,
Kept heaving to and fro.
But when the morn came dim and sad
And chill with early showers, Her quiet eyelids closedshe had Another morn than ours.
ROSABELLE O listen, listen, ladies gay !
No haughty feat of arms I tell ; Soft is the note, and sad the lay
That mourns the lovely Rosabelle. • Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew !
And, gentle ladye, deign to stay ! Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch,
Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day. * The blackening wave is edged with white ;
To inch and rock the sea-mews fly ; The fishers have heard the Water-Sprite,
Whose screams forebode that wreck is nigh. * Last night the gifted Seer did view
A wet shroud swathed round ladye gay ; Then stay thee, Fair, in Ravensheuch;
Why cross the gloomy firth to-day ?' 'Tis not because Lord Lindesay's heir
To-night at Roslin leads the ball, But that my ladye-mother there
Sits lonely in her castle-hall. “ 'Tis not because the ring they ride,
And Lindesay at the ring rides well, But that my sire the wine will chide
If 'tis not fill'd by Rosabelle.' O’er Roslin all that dreary night
A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam ; 'Twas broader than the watch-fire's light,
And redder than the bright moonbeam.