Who but Fergus O'Farrell, the fiery and gay, A second Eve, but by no crime accursed; One kiss and one clasp, and one wild look of glad- And death had found no entrance by her sin. ness; Ah! why do they change on a sudden to sadness, For Fergus O'Farrell was true to his sire-land, He joins the Brigade, in the wars far away, He fought at Cremona, she hears of his story; So she not only had preserved from ill Yet unemployed no minute slipped away; Her fellow-saints with busy care will look Eight long years have passed, till she's nigh Numberless virtues, endless charity: broken-hearted, But more will wonder at so short an age, Her reel, and her rock, and her flax she has To find a blank beyond the thirtieth page; parted; ELEGY ON THE COUNTESS OF ABINGDON. No single virtue we could most commend, A wife as tender, and as true withal, And with a pious fear begin to doubt As precious gums are not for lasting fire, JOHN DRYDEN. For dead, in the light of the dawning day, Who had yearned for his voice while dying! The panting steed, with a drooping crest, The king returned from her chamber of rest, And, that dumb companion eying, The tears gushed forth which he strove to check; CAROLINE E. NORTON. LAMENT OF THE BORDER WIDOW. [This ballad relates to the execution of Cockburne of Henderland, a border freebooter, hanged over the gate of his own tower by James V. in his famous expedition, in 1529, against the marauders of the border. In a deserted burial-place near the ruins of the castle, the monument of Cockburne and his lady is still shown. FAREWELL TO THEE, ARABY'S DAUGHTER. FROM "THE FIRE-WORSHIPERS." FAREWELL, —farewell to thee, Araby's daughter! (Thus warbled a Peri beneath the dark sea ;) No pearl ever lay under Oman's green water More pure in its shell than thy spirit in thee. O, fair as the sea-flower close to thee growing, How light was thy heart till love's witchery came, Like the wind of the south o'er a summer lute blowing, And hushed all its music and withered its frame! But long, upon Araby's green sunny highlands, Shall maids and their lovers remember the doom Of her who lies sleeping among the Pearl Islands, With naught but the sea-star to light up her tomb. The following inscription is still legible, though defaced: "HERE And still, when the merry date-season is burning, LYES PERYS OF COKBURNE AND HIS WYFE MARJORY."—Sir Wal:er Scott.] My love he built me a bonnie bower, And clad it a' wi' lily flower; A brawer bower ye ne'er did see, There came a man, by middle day, He slew my knight, to me sae dear; I sewed his sheet, making my mane ; I watched the corpse mysell alane; I watched his body night and day ; No living creature came that way. I took his body on my back, But think na ye my heart was sair, Nae living man I'll love again, ANONYMOUS. And calls to the palm-groves the young and the old, The happiest there, from their pastime returning At sunset, will weep when thy story is told. The young village maid, when with flowers she dresses Her dark-flowing hair for some festival day, Will think of thy fate, till neglecting her tresses, She mournfully turns from the mirror away. Nor shall Iran, beloved of her hero, forget thee,Though tyrants watch over her tears as they start, Close, close by the side of that hero she 'll set thee, Embalmed in the innermost shrine of her heart. Farewell! be it ours to embellish thy pillow With everything beauteous that grows in the deep; Each flower of the rock and each gem of the billow Shall sweeten thy bed and illumine thy sleep. Around thee shall glisten the loveliest amber That ever the sorrowing sea-bird has wept ; With many a shell, in whose hollow-wreathed chamber, We, Peris of ocean, by moonlight have slept. We'll dive where the gardens of coral lie darkling, And plant all the rosiest stems at thy head; We'll seek where the sands of the Caspian are sparkling, And gather their gold to strew over thy bed. |