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" 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 arméd 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 betore her,-
When, O! too strong for human hand
The tempest gather'd o'er her.

And still they row'd amidst the roar
Of waters fast prevailing :
Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore,
His wrath was changed to wailing.

For, sore dismay'd, through storm and shade
His child he did discover :-
One lovely hand she stretch'd for aid,
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!”

'Twas vain : the loud waves lash'd the shore,
Return or aid preventing :
The waters wild went o'er his child,
And he was left lamenting.

T. CAMPBELL.

182. JOCK O' HAZELDEAN.

“Why weep ye by the tide, ladie ?

Why weep ye by the tide ?
I'll wed ye to my youngest son,
And
ye

sall be his bride :
And ye sall be his bride, ladie,

Sae comely to be seen
But
aye

she loot the tears doon fa'
For Jock o' Hazeldean.

“Now let this wilfu' grief be done,

And dry that cheek so pale ;
Young Frank is chief of Errington

And lord of Langley-dale ;

His step is first in peaceful ha',

His sword in battle keen".
But aye she loot the tears down fa'

For Jock o' Hazeldean.

A chain of gold ye sall not lack,

Nor braid to bind your hair,
Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk

Nor palfrey fresh and fair ;
And you the foremost o' them a'

Shall ride our forest queen
But aye she loot the tears down fa'

For Jock o' Hazeldean.
The kirk was deck'd at morning-tide,

The tapers glimmer'd fair;
The priest and bridegroom wait the bride,

And dame and knight are there :
They sought her baith by bower and ha';

The ladie was not seen !
She's o'er the Border, and awa'
Wi' Jock o' Hazeldean.

SIR W. Scott,

183. FREEDOM AND LOVE.
How delicious is the winning
Of a kiss at love's beginning,
When two mutual hearts are sighing
For the knot there's no untying!
Yet remember, 'midst your wooing,
Love has bliss, but Love has ruing ;
Other smiles may make you fickle,
Tears for other charms may trickle.

Love he comes, and Love he tarries,
Just as fate or fancy carries;

Longest stays, when sorest chidden;
Laughs and flies, when press'd and bidden.

Bind the sea to slumber stilly,
Bind its odour to the lily,
Bind the aspen ne'er to quiver,
Then bind Love to last for ever.

Love's a fire that needs renewal
Of fresh beauty for its fuel :
Love's wing moults when caged and captured,
Only free, he soars enraptured.

Can you keep the bee from ranging
Or the ringdove's neck from changing ?
No! nor fetter'd Love from dying
In the knot there's no untying.

T. CAMPBELL.

184. LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY.
The fountains mingle with the river
And the rivers with the ocean,
The winds of heaven mix for ever
With a sweet emotion ;
Nothing in the world is single,
All things by a law divine
In one another's being mingle-
Why not I with thine ?

See the mountains kiss high heaven
And the waves clasp one another ;
No sister-flower would be forgiven
If it disdain'd its brother :
And the sunlight clasps the earth,
And the moonbeams kiss the sea
What are all these kissings worth,
If thou kiss not me?-P. B. SHELLEY.

185. ECHOES.
How sweet the answer Echo makes
To Music at night
When, roused by lute or horn, she wakes,
And far away o'er lawns and lakes
Goes answering light !

Yet Love hath echoes truer far
And far more sweet
Than e'er, beneath the moonlight's star,
Of horn or lute or soft guitar
The songs repeat.
'Tis when the sigh,-in youth sincere
And only then,
The sigh that's breathed for one to hear
Is by that one, that only Dear
Breathed back again.-T. MOORE.

186. A SERENADE.
Ah ! County Guy, the hour is nigh,

The sun has left the lea,
The orange-flower perfumes the bower,

The breeze is on the sea.
The lark, his lay who trill'd all day,

Sits hush'd his partner nigh;
Breeze, bird, and flower confess the hour.

But where is County Guy ?
The village maid steals through the shade

Her shepherd's suit to hear;
To Beauty shy, by lattice high,

Sings high-born Cavalier.
The star of Love, all stars above,

Now reigns o'er earth and sky,
And high and low the influence know-

But where is County Guy ?-SIR W. Scott.

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