LOCHINVAR. O, YOUNG Lochinvar is come out of the west, There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone, The bride had consented, the gallant came late: So boldly he entered the Netherby hall, Among bride's-men and kinsmen, and brothers and all: Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word), "O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?” "I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied;— 46 LOCHINVAR. The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up, He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,— So stately his form, and so lovely her face, While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, When they reached 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; Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar? Sir W. Scott. COME O'ER THE SEA. COME o'er the sea, Maiden, with me, Mine through sunshine, storm, and snows; But the true soul Burns the same, where'er it goes. Let fate frown on, so we love and part not; 'Tis life where thou art, 'tis death where thou art not. Then come o'er the sea, Maiden, with me, Come wherever the wild wind blows; Seasons may roll, But the true soul Burns the same, where'er it goes. Was not the sea Made for the free, Land for courts and chains alone? But on the waves Love and liberty's all our own. No eye to watch, and no tongue to wound us, Maiden, with me, Mine through sunshine, storm, and snows; But the true soul Burns the same, where'er it goes. Thomas Moore. 48 JOCK O' HAZELDEAN. JOCK O' HAZELDEAN. “WHY weep ye by the tide, ladie? Sae comely to be seen” But aye she loot the tears down fa' "Now let this wilfu' grief be done, His sword in battle keen"- "A chain of gold ye sall not lack, Shall ride our forest-queen"— But aye she loot the tears down fa' The kirk was deck'd at morning-tide, The priest and bridegroom wait the bride, They sought her baith by bower and ha'; She's o'er the Border, and awa' Wi' Jock of Hazeldean. Sir W. Scott. THE YOUNG MAY MOON. THE young May moon is beaming, love, Through Morna's grove, When the drowsy world is dreaming, love! To lengthen our days Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear. Now all the world is sleeping, love, But the Sage, his star-watch keeping, love, More glorious far, Is the eye from that casement peeping, love. The Sage's glass we'll shun, my dear, Or, in watching the flight Of bodies of light, He might happen to take thee for one, my dear. Modern Poets. T. Moore. 4 |