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Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword, (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,) “ O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, , Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?"

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“I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied ;-
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide-
And now am I come, with this lost love of mine,
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. .
There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far,
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar.”

The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up,
He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup.
She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh,
With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye.
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,—
“Now tread we a measure !” said young Lochinvar.

So stately his form, and so lovely her face,
That never a hall such a galliard did grace;

While her mother did fret, and her father did fume,
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume;
And the bride-maidens whispered, “ "Twere better by far
To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar.”

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,
When they reached 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 fleetsteeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar.

There was mounting imong Græmes of the Netherby clan;
Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran :
There was racing, and chasing, on Cannobie Lee,
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see.
So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, '
Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?

The monarch o'er the syren hung,
And beat the measure as she sung;
And, pressing closer, and more near,
He whispered praises in her ear.
In loud applause the courtiers vied;
And ladies winked, and spoke aside.
The witching dame to Marmion threw

A glance, where seemed to reign
The pride that claims applauses due,
And of her royal conquest, too,

A real or feigned disdain :
Familiar was the look, and told,
Marmion and she were friends of old.
The King observed their meeting eyes
With something like displeased surprise ;
For monarchs ill can rivals brook,
Even in a word, or smile, or look.
Strait took he forth the parchment broad,
Which Marmion's high commission showed :
“ Our Borders sacked by many à raid,
Our peaceful liege-men robbed,” he said ;
“ On day of truce our Warden slain,
Stout Barton killed, his vessels ta’en-
Unworthy were we here to reign,
Should these for vengeance cry in vain;
Our full defiance, hate, and scorn,
Our herald has to Henry borne.”

He paused, and led where Douglas stood,
And with stern eye the pageant viewed : :

I mean that Douglas, sixth of yore,
Who coronet of Angus bore,
And, when his blood and heart were high,
King James's minions led to die

On Lauder's dreary flat:
Princes and favourites long grew tame,
And trembled at the homely name

Of Archibald Bell-the-Cat.

The same who left the dusky vale
Of Hermitage in Liddisdale,

Its dungeons, and its towers;
Where Bothwell's turrets brave the air,
And Bothwell bank is blooming fair,

To fix his princely bowers.
Though now, in age, he had laid down
His armour for the peaceful gown,

And for a staff his brand,
Yet often would flash forth the fire,
That could, in youth, a monarch’s ire

And minion's pride withstand;
And even that day, at council board,

Unapt to sooth his sovereign's mood,

Against the war had Angus stood, And chafed his royal Lord.

His giant-form, like ruined tower,

Though fallen its muscles' brawny vaunt,
Huge-boned, and tall, and grim, and gaunt,

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