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 Cannobie lea; 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? Sir Walter Scott. HOW SLEEP THE BRAVE How sleep the Brave who sink to rest By fairy hands their knell is rung, William Collins. LUCY GRAY; OR, SOLITUDE OFT I had heard of Lucy Gray: No mate, no comrade Lucy knew; You yet may spy the fawn at play, "To-night will be a stormy night - And take a lantern, child, to light "That, father, will I gladly do: 'Tis scarcely afternoon The minster-clock has just struck two, At this the father raised his hook, And snapped a fagot-band; He plied his work; and Lucy took The lantern in her hand. Not blither is the mountain roe: With many a wanton stroke Her feet disperse the powdery snow, The storm came on before its time: The wretched parents all that night At daybreak on a hill they stood And thence they saw the bridge of wood, They wept and, turning homeward, cried, "In heaven we all shall meet!" When in the snow the mother spied The print of Lucy's feet. Then downwards from the steep hill's edge And then an open field they crossed: They followed from the snowy bank And further there were none ! Yet some maintain that to this day That you may see sweet Lucy Gray O'er rough and smooth she trips along, And never looks behind; And sings a solitary song That whistles in the wind. William Wordsworth. THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS It was the schooner Hesperus, That sailed the wintry sea; And the skipper had taken his little daughtèr, To bear him company. Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax, Her cheeks like the dawn of day, And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds, The skipper he stood beside the helm, His pipe was in his mouth, And watched how the veering flaw did blow Then up and spake an old sailòr, Had sailed the Spanish Main, "I pray thee put into yonder port, For I fear a hurricane. "Last night the moon had a golden ring, Colder and louder blew the wind, And the billows frothed like yeast. Down came the storm, and smote amain She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed, "Come hither! come hither! my And do not tremble so ; little daughter, |