The small round basin, which this jutting stone Keeps pure from falling leaves! Long may the Spring, Quietly as a sleeping infant's breath, Send up cold waters to the traveller With soft and even pulse! Nor ever cease Nor wrinkles the smooth surface of the Fount. COLERIDGE. FAIR INES. SAW ye not fair Ines? To dazzle when the sun is down, With morning blushes on her cheek, O turn again, fair Ines, Before the fall of night, For fear the moon should shine alone, And stars unrivall'd bright; And blessed will the lover be And breathes the love against thy cheek Would I had been, fair Ines, That gallant cavalier, Who rode so gaily by thy side, That he should cross the seas to win I saw thee, lovely Ines, It would have been a beauteous dream,— Alas, alas, fair Ines, She went away with song, With music waiting on her steps, And shoutings of the throng; In sounds that sang farewell, farewell, Farewell, farewell, fair Ines, That vessel never bore So fair a lady on its deck, Nor danced so light before,— Alas, for pleasure on the sea, And sorrow on the shore! The smile that blest one lover's heart Has broken many more! HOOD. L' SIC VITA. IKE to the falling of a star, Or as the flightes of eagles are, [A SONNET UPON SONNETS.] UNS fret not at their convent's narrow Νυ room; And hermits are contented with their cells; In truth, the prison, unto which we doom Who have felt the weight of too much liberty, 66 JOCK O' HAZELDEAN. WHY weep ye by the tide, ladye? Why weep ye by the tide ? I'll wed you to my youngest son, Sae comely to be seen' But aye she loot the tears doon fa' "Now let this wilfu' grief be done, His step is first in peaceful ha', His sword in battle keen," But aye she loot the tears doon fa' For Jock o' Hazeldean. "A chain of gold ye shall not lack, Nor braid to bind your hair; Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk, And you, the foremost o' them a', The kirk was deck'd at morning-tide, The priest and bridegroom wait the bride, She's o'er the border and awa Wi' Jock o' Hazeldean! SCOTT. THE PASSIONATE SHEPHEARD TO COME HIS LOVE. OME live with me, and be my Love, That vallies, groves, hills, and fields, And we will sit upon the rockes And I will make thee beds of roses, Imbroydered all with leaves of myrtle: |