"I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her shroud," Cried a voice from the kinsmen, all wrathful and loud “And empty that shroud and that coffin did seem: Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream!"

O! pale grew the cheek of that chieftain, I ween, When the shroud was unclosed, and no lady was seen, When a voice from the kinsmen spoke louder in scorn, 'T was the youth who had loved the fair Ellen of Lorn:

"I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her grief, I dreamt that her lord was a barbarous chief: On a rock of the ocean fair Ellen did seem; Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream!"

In dust, low the traitor has knelt to the ground,
And the desert reveal'd where his lady was found;
From a rock of the ocean that beauty is borne,
Now joy to the house of fair Ellen of Lorn!

THOMAS CAMPBELL.1

1 THOMAS CAMPBELL, born in Glasgow in 1777, graduated at the university of his native town, and made an early reputation as a poet by the publication of his Pleasures of Hope. After a journey on the Continent, where he witnessed the battle of Hohenlinden, he returned to London, where he passed the rest of his life. His prose writings, which were extensive and profitable, and gained for him a pension from the government, are now forgotten, but his lyric poetry holds a high place. He died in 1844.

LOCHINVAR.

O, YOUNG Lochinvar is come out of the West,
Through all the wide border his steed was the best;
And save his good broadsword he weapons had none,
He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone.
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.

He staid not for brake, and he stopped not for stone,
He swam the Eske river where ford there was none;
But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate,

The bride had consented, the gallant came late:
For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.

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 woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied;
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide;
And now am I come, with this lost love of mine,
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.
There are maidens in Scotland, more lovely by far,
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochin-

var."

The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up, He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup.

She looked down to blush, and she looked up to

sigh,

With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye.
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,
Now tread we a measure!" said young Lochinvar.

So stately his form, and so lovely his face,
That never a hall such a galliard did grace;
While her mother did fret, and her father did fume,
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and
plume;

And the bride-maidens whispered, "'T were better by far

To have matched our fair cousin with young Loch

in var."

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 Graemes of the Netherby clan;

Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran:

There was racing and chasing, on Cannobie Lee,
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see.
So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,
Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?
SIR WALTER SCOTT.

LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.

A CHIEFTAIN, to the Highlands bound,
Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry!
And I'll give thee a silver pound,
To row us o'er the ferry."

"Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle, This dark and stormy water?" "O I'm the chief of Ulva's isle,

And this Lord Ullin's daughter.

36 And fast before her father's men

Three days we've fled together, For should he find us in the glen,

My blood would stain the heather.

"His horsemen hard behind us ride;
Should they our steps discover,
Then who will cheer my bonny bride
When they have slain her lover?”

Out spoke the hardy Highland wight, "I'll go, my chief - I'm ready:

It is not for your silver bright,

But for your winsome lady :

"And by my word! the bonny bird In danger shall not tarry;

So, though the waves are raging white, I'll row you o'er the ferry."

By this the storm grew loud apace, The water wraith1 was shrieking; 1 The evil spirit of the waters

And in the scowl of heaven each face
Grew dark as they were speaking.

But still as wilder blew the wind,
And as the night grew drearer,
Adown the glen rode armèd men,
Their trampling sounded nearer.

"O haste thee, haste!" the lady cries,
"Though tempests round us gather;
I'll meet the raging of the skies,
But not an angry father.”

When, O! too strong for human hand,
The tempest gather'd o'er her.

And still they row'd amidst the roar
Of waters fast prevailing:

Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore,
His wrath was changed to wailing.

For sore dismay'd, through storm and shade,
His child he did discover:

One lovely hand she stretched for aid,
And one was round her lover.

"Come back! come back!" he cried in grief, "Across this stormy water:

And I'll forgive your Highland chief,
My daughter! O my daughter!"

'T was vain; the loud waves lashed the shore, Return or aid preventing :