Welcome, folded arms, and fixéd eyes, A sigh that piercing mortifies, A look that 's fasten'd to the ground, A tongue chain'd up without a sound! Fountain heads and pathless groves, Places which pale passion loves! Moonlight walks, when all the fowls Are warmly housed save bats and owls! A midnight bell, a parting groan! These are the sounds we feed upon; Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley; Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy. J. Fletcher

CV

TO A LOCK OF HAIR

HY hue, dear pledge, is pure and bright 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!

Sir W. Scott

CVI

THE FORSAKEN BRIDE

WALY waly up the bank,
And waly waly down the brae,
And waly waly yon burn-side

O

Where I and my Love wont to gae! I leant my back unto an aik,

I thought it was a trusty tree; But first it bow'd, and syne it brak, Sae my true Love did lichtly me.

O waly waly, but love be bonny
A little time while it is new;
But when 't is auld, it waxeth cauld
And fades awa' like morning dew.
O wherefore should I busk my head?

Or wherefore should I kame my hair?

For my true Love has me forsook,
And says he'll never loe me mair.

Now Arthur-seat sall be my bed;

The sheets shall ne'er be prest by me : Saint Anton's well sall be my drink,

Since my true Love has forsaken me. Marti'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw

And shake the green leaves aff the tree? O gentle Death, when wilt thou come? For of my life I am wearie.

'Tis not the frost that freezes fell,

Nor blawing snaw's inclemencie ; 'T is not sic cauld that makes me cry,

But my Love's heart grown cauld to me. When we came in by Glasgow town

We were a comely sight to see;
My Love was clad in the black velvét,
And I mysell in cramasie.

But had I wist, before I kist,

That love had been sae ill to win ;
I had lockt my heart in a case of gowd
And pinn'd it with a siller pin.
And, O! if my young babe were born,
And set upon the nurse's knee,
And I mysell were dead and gane,

And the green grass growing over me!

Anon.

CVII

FAIR HELEN

I

WISH I were where Helen lies:
Night and day on me she cries;
O that I were where Helen lies
On fair Kirconnell lea!

Curst be the heart that thought the thought,
And curst the hand that fired the shot,
When in my arms burd Helen dropt,
And died to succour me!

O think na but my heart was sair
When my Love dropt down and spak nae mair!
I laid her down wi' meikle care
On fair Kirconnell lea.

As I went down the water-side,
None but my foe to be my guide,
None but my foe to be my guide,
On fair Kirconnell lea;

I lighted down my sword to draw,
I hacked him in pieces sma',
I hacked him in pieces sma',

For her sake that died for me.

O Helen fair, beyond compare!
I'll make a garland of thy hair
Shall bind my heart for evermair
Until the day I die.

O that I were where Helen lies!
Night and day on me she cries;
Out of my bed she bids me rise,

Says, 'Haste and come to me!'

O Helen fair! O Helen chaste!
If I were with thee, I were blest,
Where thou lies low and takes thy rest
On fair Kirconnell lea.

I wish my grave were growing green,
A winding sheet drawn ower my een,
And I in Helen's arms lying,

On fair Kirconnell lea.

I wish I were where Helen lies:
Night and day on me she cries;
And I am weary of the skies,
Since my love died for me.

CVIII

THE TWA CORBIES

S I was walking all alane

Anon.

making a mane;

The tane unto the t' other say,
'Where sall we gang and dine to-day?'

In behint yon auld fail dyke,
I wot there lies a new-slain Knight;
And naebody kens that he lies there,
But his hawk, his hound, and lady fair.