Слике страница
PDF
ePub

The economy of Heaven is dark,
And wisest clerks have miss'd the mark
Why human buds, like this, should fall,
More brief than fly ephemeral
That has his day; while shriveli'd crones
Stiffen with age to stocks and stones;
And crabbed use the conscience sears
In sinners of an hundred years.
-Mother's prattle, mother's kiss,
Baby fond, thou ne'er wilt miss:
Rites, which custom does impose,
Silver bells, and baby clothes;
Coral redder than those lips
Which pale death did late eclipse;
Music framed for infants' glee,
Whistle never tuned for thee;
Though thou want'st not, thou shalt have them,
Loving hearts were they which gave them.
Let not one be missing; nurse,
See them laid upon the hearse
Of infant slain by doom perverse.
Why should kings and nobles have
Pictured trophies to their grave,
And we, churls, to thee deny
Thy pretty toys with thee to lie
A more harmless vanity?

SIR WALTER SCOTT

[1771-1832)

427

THE OUTLAW

O BRIGNALL banks are wild and fair,

And Greta woods are green,
And you may gather garlands there

Would grace a summer-queen.
And as I rode by Dalton-Hall

Beneath the turrets high,

A Maiden on the castle-wall

Was singing merrily:
“O Brignall Banks are fresh and fair,

And Greta woods are green;
I'd rather rove with Edmund there

Than reign our English queen.'

'If, Maiden, thou wouldst wend with me,

To leave both tower and town, Thou first must guess what life lead we

That dwell by dale and down. And if thou canst that riddle read,

As read full well you may, Then to the greenwood shalt thou speed

As blithe as Queen of May.'
Yet sung she, ‘Brignall banks are fair,

And Greta woods are green;
I'd rather rove with Edmund there

Than reign our English queen.

'I read you, by your bugle-horn

And by your palfrey good,
I read you for a ranger sworn

To keep the king's greenwood.'
A Ranger, lady, winds his horn,

And 'tis at peep of light;
His blast is heard at merry morn,

And mine at dead of night.'
Yet sung she, ‘Brignall banks are fair,

And Greta woods are gay;
I would I were with Edmund there

To reign his Queen of May !

. With burnish'd brand and musketoon

So gallantly you come,
I read you for a bold Dragoon

That lists the tuck of drum.'
" I list no more the tuck of drum,

No more the trumpet hear;

But when the beetle sounds his hum

My comrades take the spear.
And O! though Brignall banks be fair

And Greta woods be gay,
Yet mickle must the maiden dare

Would reign my Queen of May !

'Maiden! a nameless life I lead,

A nameless death I'll die;
The fiend whose lantern lights the mead

Were better mate than I!
And when I'm with my comrades met

Beneath the greenwood bough,-
What once we were we all forget,

Nor think what we are now.'

Chorus

'Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair,

And Greta woods are green,
And you may gather garlands there

Would grace a summer-queen.

428

TO A LOCK OF HAIR

Thy hue, dear pledge, is pure and bright
As in that well-remember'd night
When first thy mystic braid was wove,
And first my Agnes whisper'd love.

Since then how often hast thou prest
The torrid zone of this wild breast,
Whose wrath and hate have sworn to dwell
With the first sin that peopled hell;
A breast whose blood's a troubled ocean,
Each throb the earthquake's wild commotion!
O if such clime thou canst endure
Yet keep thy hue unstain'd and pure,
What conquest o'er each erring thought

Of that fierce realm had Agnes wrought !
I had not wander'd far and wide
With such an angel for my guide;
Nor heaven nor earth could then reprove me
If she had lived and lived to love me.

Not then this world's wild joys had been
To me one savage hunting scene,
My sole delight the headlong race
And frantic hurry of the chase;
To start, pursue, and bring to bay,
Rush in, drag down, and rend my prey,
Then from the carcass turn away!
Mine ireful mood had sweetness tamed,
And soothed each wound which pride inflamed:-
Yes, God and man might now approve me
If thou hadst lived and lived to love me!

429

JocK OF HAZELDEAN
'Why weep ye by the tide, ladie?

Why weep ye by the tide ?
I'll wed ye to my youngest son,
And
ye

sall be his bride:
And ye sall be his bride, ladie,

Sae comely to be seen'-
But aye she loot the tears down fa'

For Jock of Hazeldean.

• Now let this wilfu' grief be done,

And dry that cheek so pale;
Young Frank is chief of Errington

And lord of Langley-dale;
His step is first in peaceful ha',

His sword in battle keen'-
But aye she loot the tears down fa'

For Jock of Hazeldean.

• A chain of gold ye sall not lack,

Nor braid to bind your hair,
Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk,

Nor palfrey fresh and fair;
And you the foremost o' them a'

Shall ride our forest-queen-
But aye she loot the tears down fa'

For Jock of Hazeldean.

The kirk was deck'd at morning-tide,

The tapers glimmer'd fair;
The priest and bridegroom wait the bride,

And dame and knight are there:
They sought her baith by bower and ha'

The ladie was not seen!
She's o'er the Border, and awa'

Wi’ Jock of Hazeldean.

[blocks in formation]

WHERE shall the lover rest

Whom the fates sever
From his true maiden's breast

Parted for ever?
Where, through groves deep and high

Sounds the far billow,
Where early violets die
Under the willow.

Eleu loro
Soft shall be his pillow.

There through the summer day

Cool streams are laving:
There, while the tempests sway,

Scarce are boughs waving;
There thy rest shalt thou take,

Parted for ever,
Never again to wake

« ПретходнаНастави »