O love, they die in yon rich sky, They faint on hill or field or river: And grow for ever and for ever. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, TO CELIA. From THE FOREST. Ben Jonson. DRINK to me only with thine eyes, And I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise, But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I sent thee, late, a rosy wreath, It could not withered be. But thou thereon didst only breathe, Since when, it grows, and smells, I swear, HAROLD'S SONG. From THE LAY OF THE LAST MINStrel. Sir Walter Scott. O, LISTEN, listen, ladies gay! No haughty feat of arms I tell; "Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew! "The blackening wave is edged with white; "Last night the gifted Seer did view A wet shroud swathed round lady gay; "'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-fire light, And redder than the bright moonbeam. It glared on Roslin's castled rock, It ruddied all the copsewood glen; "Twas seen from Dryden's groves of oak, And seen from caverned Hawthornden. Seemed all on fire that chapel proud Each Baron, for a sable shroud, Seemed all on fire within, around, And glimmered all the dead men's mail. Blazed battlement and pinnet high, There are twenty of Roslin's barons bold Each one the holy vault doth hold But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle ! And each Saint Clair was buried there, With candle, with book, and with knell; But the sea-caves rung and the wild waves sung The dirge of lovely Rosabelle. AULD ROBIN GRAY. Lady Anne Lindsay. WHEN the sheep are in the fauld, when the cows come hame, The woes of my heart fa' in showers frae my ee, Young Jamie loo'd me weel, and sought me for his bride; Before he had been gane a twelvemonth and a day, My father cou'dna work my mother cou❜dna spin; My heart it said na, and I look'd for Jamie back; My father argued sair-my mother didna speak, But she look'd in my face till my heart was like to break: They gied him my hand, but my heart was in the sea; And so Auld Robin Gray, he was gudeman to me. I hadna been his wife, a week but only four, I saw my Jamie's ghaist- I cou'dna think it he, O sair, sair did we greet, and mickle say of a'; I gang like a ghaist, and I carena much to spin; ALLEN-A-DALE. From ROKEBY. Sir Walter Scott. ALLEN-A-DALE has no fagot for burning, The Baron of Ravensworth prances in pride, |