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!
"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.
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
АH! County Guy, the hour is nigh The sun has left the lea,
The orange-flower perfumes the bower, The breeze is on the sea.
The lark, his lay who trill'd all day,
Sits hush'd his partner nigh;
Breeze, bird, and flower confess the hour, But where is County Guy?
The village maid steals through the shade Her shepherd's suit to hear;
To Beauty shy, by lattice high, Sings high-born Cavalier.
The star of Love, all stars above, Now reigns o'er earth and sky, And high and low the influence know- But where is County Guy?
A WEARY lot is thine, fair maid, A weary lot is thine!
To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, And press the rue for wine. A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien A feather of the blue,
A doublet of the Lincoln green- No more of me you knew My Love!
No more of me you knew.
'This morn is merry June, I trow,
The rose is budding fain;
But she shall bloom in winter snow Ere we two meet again.'
He turn'd his charger as he spake Upon the river shore,
He gave the bridle-reins a shake, Said Adieu for evermore My Love!
And adieu for evermore.'
THE MAID OF NEIDPATH
O LOVERS' eyes are sharp to see, And lovers' ears in hearing; And love, in life's extremity,
Can lend an hour of cheering. Disease had been in Mary's bower And slow decay from mourning,
Though now she sits on Neidpath's tower To watch her Love's returning.
All sunk and dim her eyes so bright, Her form decay'd by pining, Till through her wasted hand, at night, You saw the taper shining.
By fits a sultry hectic hue
Across her cheek was flying; By fits so ashy pale she grew Her maidens thought her dying.
Yet keenest powers to see and hear Seem'd in her frame residing; Before the watch-dog prick'd his ear She heard her lover's riding; Ere scarce a distant form was kenn'd She knew and waved to greet him, And o'er the battlement did bend As on the wing to meet him.
He came he pass'd-an heedless gaze As o'er some stranger glancing: Her welcome, spoke in faltering phrase, Lost in his courser's prancing- The castle-arch, whose hollow tone Returns each whisper spoken,
Could scarcely catch the feeble moan Which told her heart was broken.
GATHERING SONG OF DONALD THE BLACK
Pibroch of Donuil Dhu
Pibroch of Donuil Wake thy wild voice anew, Summon Clan Conuil. Come away, come away, Hark to the summons! Come in your war-array, Gentles and commons.
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