"Tis not because Lord Lindesay's heir "Tis not because the ring they ride, -O'er Roslin all that dreary night A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam; 'Twas broader than the watch-fires' light, And redder than the bright moonbeam. It glared on Roslin's castled rock, It ruddied all the copse-wood glen; 'Twas seen from Dryden's groves of oak, And seen from cavern'd Hawthornden. Seem'd all on fire that chapel proud Seem'd all on fire within, around, Blazed battlement and pinnet high, There are twenty of Roslin's barons bold But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle ! And each St. Clair was buried there With candle, with book, and with knell ; But the sea-caves rung, and the wild winds sung, The dirge of lovely Rosabelle. Sir W. Scott XLVIII THE BALLAD OF THE BOAT The stream was smooth as glass, we said, 'Arise and let's away :' The Siren sang beside the boat that in the rushes lay; And spread the sail, and strong the oar, we gaily took our way. When shall the sandy bar be cross'd? when shall we find the bay? The broadening flood swells slowly out o'er cattledotted plains, The stream is strong and turbulent, and dark with heavy rains; The labourer looks up to see our shallop speed away. When shall the sandy bar be cross'd? when shall we find the bay? Now are the clouds like fiery shrouds; the sun, superbly large, Slow as an oak to woodman's stroke sinks flaming at their marge. The waves are bright with mirror'd light as jacinths on our way. When shall the sandy bar be cross'd? when shall we find the bay? The moon is high up in the sky, and now no more we see The spreading river's either bank, and surging distantly There booms a sullen thunder as of breakers far away. Now shall the sandy bar be cross'd, now shall we find the bay! The sea-gull shrieks high overhead, and dimly to our sight The moonlit crests of foaming waves gleam towering through the night. We'll steal upon the mermaid soon, and start her from her lay, When once the sandy bar is cross'd, and we are in the bay. What rises white and awful as a shroud-enfolded ghost? What roar of rampant tumult bursts in clangour on the coast? Pull back! pull back! The raging flood sweeps every oar away. O stream, is this thy bar of sand? O boat, is this the bay? R. Garnett XLIX VERSES Supposed to be written by Alexander Selkirk, during his solitary abode in the island of Juan Fernandez I am monarch of all I survey, My right there is none to dispute; That sages have seen in thy face? I am out of humanity's reach, Society, friendship and love, Religion! what treasure untold Lies hid in that heavenly word! More precious than silver or gold, Ye winds that have made me your sport, Of a land I shall visit no more. How fleet is a glance of the mind! Compar'd with the speed of its flight, The tempest himself lags behind And the swift-winged arrows of light. When I think of my own native land, In a moment I seem to be there; But, alas! recollection at hand Soon hurries me back to despair. But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest, W. Cowper |