The winds so sweet with birch and fern

A sweeter memory blow;

And there in spring the veeries sing
The song of long ago.

And still the pines of Ramoth wood
Are moaning like the sea,

The moaning of the sea of change

Between myself and thee!

John Greenleaf Whittier.

YOUNG LOCHINVAR

Он, young Lochinvar is come out of the West! Through all the wide Border his steed is the best; And, save his good broadsword, he weapons had

none;

He rode all unarm'd, and he rode all alone.

So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar!

He stay'd not for brake and he stopp'd not for

stone;

He swam the Eske river where ford there was

none;

But ere he alighted at Netherby gate,

The bride had consented; the gallant came late;

For a laggard in love and a dastard in war
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.

So boldly he enter'd the Netherby Hall,

Among bridesmen and kinsmen and brothers and

all;

YOUNG LOCHINVAR

15

Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his

sword,

For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word, "Oh, 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;
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 Lochin-
var!"

The bride kiss'd the goblet, the knight took it up, He quaff'd off the wine and he threw down the cup; She look'd down to blush, and she look'd 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, “”T were better by far

To have match'd our fair cousin with young Lochinvar!"

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 all their Country's wishes blest!
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,
Returns to deck their hallow'd mould,
She there shall dress a sweeter sod
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.

LUCY GRAY; OR, SOLITUDE

By fairy hands their knell is rung,
By forms unseen their dirge is sung:
There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay,
And Freedom shall awhile repair
To dwell a weeping hermit there!

William Collins.

17

LUCY GRAY; OR, SOLITUDE

OFT I had heard of Lucy Gray:
And, when I crossed the wild,
I chanced to see at break of day
The solitary child.

No mate, no comrade Lucy knew;
She dwelt on a wide moor,
The sweetest thing that ever grew
Beside a human door! ́

You yet may spy the fawn at play,
The hare upon the green;
But the sweet face of Lucy Gray
Will never more be seen.

"To-night will be a stormy night-
You to the town must go;

And take a lantern, child, to light
Your mother through the snow."

"That, father, will I gladly do: 'Tis scarcely afternoon

The minster-clock has just struck two,
And yonder is the moon

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,
That rises up like smoke.

The storm came on before its time:
She wandered up and down,
And many a hill did Lucy climb,
But never reached the town.

The wretched parents all that night
Went shouting far and wide;
But there was neither sound nor sight
To serve them for a guide.

At daybreak on a hill they stood

That overlooked the moor;

And thence they saw the bridge of wood, A furlong from their door.

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.