Where the sunny Lindis floweth,
Goeth, floweth ;

From the meads where melick groweth,
Where the water winding down
Onward floweth to the town.

I shall never see her more

Where the reeds and rushes quiver,
Shiver, quiver,

Stand beside the sobbing river,
Sobbing, throbbing, in its falling
To the sandy lonesome shore;
I shall never hear her calling-
"Leave your meadow grasses mellow,
Mellow, mellow!

Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow!
Come up, White-foot! come up, Light-foot!
Quit your pipes of parsley hollow,

Hollow, hollow!

Come up, Light-foot rise and follow!
Light-foot! White-foot !

From your clovers lift your head!

Come up, Jetty! follow, follow,
Jetty! to the milking shed."

SYDNEY THOMPSON DOBELL.

1824-1874.

KEITH OF RAVELSTON.

The murmur of the mourning ghost
That keeps the shadowy kine,-

"O, Keith of Ravelston!

The sorrows of thy line!"

Ravelston! Ravelston!

The merry path that leads

Down the golden morning hill,

And through the silver meads.

Ravelston! Ravelston!

The stile beneath the tree,

The maid that kept her mother's kine,
The song that sang she.

She sang her song, she kept her kine,
She sat beneath the thorn,

When Andrew Keith of Ravelston
Rode through, the Monday morn.

His henchmen sing, his hawk-bells ring,

His belted jewels shine!

"O, Keith of Ravelston!

The sorrows of thy line!"

Year after year, where Andrew came,
Comes evening down the glade,
And still there sits a moonshine ghost
Where sat the sunshine maid.

Her misty hair is faint and fair,

She keeps the shadowy kine;

"O, Keith of Ravelston!

The sorrows of thy line!"

I lay my hand upon the stile,
The stile is lone and cold,
The burnie that goes babbling by

Says nought that can be told.

Yet, stranger! here, from year to year,

She keeps her shadowy kine;

"O, Keith of Ravelston!

The sorrows of thy line!"

Step out three steps, where Andrew stood!

Why blanch thy cheeks for fear?

The ancient stile is not alone,
'Tis not the burn I hear.

She makes her immemorial moan,
She keeps her shadowy kine;

"O, Keith of Ravelston!

The sorrows of thy line!"

GEORGE WALTER THORNBURY.

1828-1876.

THE CAVALIER'S ESCAPE.

Trample, trample, went the roan,

Trap, trap, went the grey;

But pad, pad, PAD, like a thing that was mad,
My chestnut broke away!

It was just five miles from Salisbury town,
And but one hour to day.

Thud, thud, came on the roan,

Rap, rap, the mettled grey;

But my chestnut mare was of blood so rare,
That she show'd them all the way.

Spur on! spur on! I doff'd my hat,
And wish'd them all good day!

They splash'd through miry rut and pool,
Splinter'd through fence and rail ;
But chestnut Kate switch'd over the gate;
I saw them droop and tail.

To Salisbury town but a mile of down,
Once over this brook and rail.

Trap, trap, I heard their echoing hoofs
Past the walls of mossy stone;
The roan flew on at a staggering pace.
But blood is better than bone.

I patted old Kate, and gave her the spur,
For I knew it was all my own.

But trample, trample, came their steeds,
And I saw their wolf's eyes burn;
I felt like a royal hart at bay,
And made me ready to turn;

I look'd where highest grew the May,
And deepest arch'd the fern.

I flew at the first knave's sallow throat,-
One blow, and he was down;

The second rogue fired twice, and miss'd,—
I sliced the villain's crown;

Clove through the rest, and flogg'd brave Kate,
Fast, fast, to Salisbury town.

Pad, pad, they came on the level sward,

Thud, thud, upon the sand;

With a gleam of swords and a burning match,
And a shaking of flag and hand.

But one long bound, and I pass'd the gate,
Safe from the canting band.

ROBERT WILLIAMS BUCHANAN. 1841

THE BALLAD OF JUDAS ISCARIOT.

'Twas the body of Judas Iscariot

Lay in the Field of Blood! 'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot Beside the body stood.

Black was the earth by night,

And black was the sky;

Black, binck were the broken clouds,

Though the red Moon went by.

'Twas the body of Judas Iscariot
Strangled and dead lay there!
'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot
Look'd on it in despair!

The breath of the World came and went,
Like a sick man's in rest;

Drop by drop on the World's eyes

The dews fell cool and blest.

Then the soul of Judas Iscariot
Did make a gentle moan:
"I will bury underneath the ground
My flesh and blood and bone.

"I will bury deep beneath the soil,
Lest mortals look thereon;

And when the wolf and raven come
The body will be gone!

"The stones of the field are sharp as steel,
And hard and cold, God wot;
And I must bear my body hence
Until I find a spot!

'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot,

So grim, and gaunt, and grey,
Raised the body of Judas Iscariot,
And carried it away.

And as he bare it from the field,
Its touch was cold as ice;
And the ivory teeth within the jaw
Rattled aloud, like dice.

As the soul of Judas Iscariot

Carried its load with pain,

The Eye of Heaven, like a lantern's eye, Open'd and shut again.