For, as our different ages move, 'Tis so ordained (would Fate but mend it!) That I shall be past making love When she begins to comprehend it. "The gray-headed sexton That delves the grave duly "The glow-worm o'er grave and stone Shall light thee steady; The owl from the steeple sing, 'Welcome, proud lady.'" Sir Walter Scott. THE PASSIONATE Shepherd tO HIS LOVE 65 THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE COME live with me and be my love, And we will sit upon the rocks, And I will make thee beds of roses A gown made of the finest wool, A belt of straw and ivy-buds Thy silver dishes for thy meat The shepherd-swains shall dance and sing Christopher Marlowe. THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB 1 THE Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold, And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen; Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay withered and strown. For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed; And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still. And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride; 1 Note 8. SIR PATRICK SPENS 67 And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. And there lay the rider, distorted and pale, And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, SIR PATRICK SPENS THE king sits in Dunfermline toun, Oh, up and spake an eldern knight, Our king has written a braid letter, "To Noroway, to Noroway, To Noroway o'er the faem; The king's daughter of Noroway, The first word that Sir Patrick read, The neist word that Sir Patrick read, "Oh wha is this has done this deed, And tauld the king o' me, To send us out, at this time of the year, "Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet, Our ship must sail the faem; The king's daughter of Noroway, 'Tis we must fetch her hame." They hoysed their sails on Monenday morn, Wi' a' the speed they may; And they hae landed in Noroway Upon a Wedensday. They hadna been a week, a week In Noroway but twae, When that the lords o' Noroway Began aloud to say: "Ye Scottishmen spend a' our king's gowd, And a' our queenis fee." "Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud! Fu' loud I hear ye lie! |