EDWIN AND EMMA. 66 Oft, too, on Stanmore's wintry waste, In sighs to pour his soften'd soul, His cheek, where health with beauty glow'd, A deadly pale o'ercast : So fades the fresh rose in its prime, Before the northern blast. The parents now, with late remorse, Hung o'er his dying bed; And wearied Heaven with fruitless vows, And fruitless sorrows shed. "Tis past!" he cried; "but, if your souls Sweet mercy yet can move, Let these dim eyes once more behold She came,- his cold hand softly touch'd, But oh! his sister's jealous care (A cruel sister she!) Forbade what Emma came to say, "My Edwin, live for me!" Now homeward as she hopeless wept The church-yard path along, The blast blew cold, the dark owl scream'd Her lover's funeral song. EDWIN AND EMMA. Amid the falling gloom of night, Alone, appall'd, thus had she pass'd The visionary vale When lo! the death-bell smote her ear, Sad sounding in the gale! Just then she reach'd, with trembling step, Her aged mother's door: He's gone!" she cried, " and I shall see "I feel, I feel, this breaking heart Beat high against my side!" From her white arm down sunk her head, She shiver'd, sigh'd, and died. LOCHINVAR. So boldly he enter'd the Netherby Hall, Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all : (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,) 66 "O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?" "I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide; The bride kiss'd the goblet: the knight took it up, So stately his form, and so lovely her face, And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume; One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, When they reach'd the hall-door, and the charger stood near; So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung! She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur; They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar. There was mounting 'mong Græmes of the Netherby clan; Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran; There was racing and chasing on Canobie Lee, But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, Have you e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar |