Ay, press your hand upon my heart,

And press it mair and mair, Or it will burst the silken twine, Sae strang is its despair.

Oh, wae's me for the hour, Willie,
When we thegither met!

Oh, wae's me for the time, Willie,
That our first tryst was set!
Oh, wae's me for the loanin' green
Where we were wont to gae,
And wae's me for the destinie

That gart me luve thee sae!

Oh, dinna mind my words, Willie-
I downa seek to blame;

But oh, it's hard to live, Willie,

And dree a warld's shame!

Het tears are hailin' ower your cheek,
And hailin' ower your chin:
Why weep ye sae for worthlessness,
For sorrow, and for sin?

I'm weary o' this warld, Willie,
And sick wi' a' I see,

I canna live as I ha'e lived,

Or be as I should be.

But fauld unto your heart, Willie,

The heart that still is thine,

And kiss ance mair the white, white cheek Ye said was red langsyne.

A stoun' gaes through my heid, Willie -
A sair stoun' through my heart;
Oh, haud me up and let me kiss
Thy brow ere we twa pairt.

Anither, and anither yet!

How fast my life-strings break!

Fareweel! fareweel! through yon kirk-yard Step lichtly for my sake!

The lav'rock in the lift, Willie,
That lilts far ower our heid,
Will sing the morn as merrilie

Abune the clay-cauld deid;
And this green turf we're sittin' on,
Wi' dew-draps shimmerin' sheen,
Will hap the heart that luvit thee
As warld has seldom seen.

But oh, remember me, Willie, be!

On land where'er ye

And oh, think on the leal, leal heart,
That ne'er luvit ane but thee!

And oh, think on the cauld, cauld mools
That file my yellow hair,

That kiss the cheek, and kiss the chin, Ye never sall kiss mair!

313

WILLIAM MOTHERWELL.

The Rose and the Gauntlet.

Low spake the knight to the peasant-girl:
"I tell thee sooth, I am belted earl;
Fly with me from this garden small,
And thou shalt sit in my castle's hall;

"Thou shalt have pomp, and wealth, and pleasure, Joys beyond thy fancy's measure;

Here with my sword and horse I stand,

To bear thee away to my distant land.

"Take, thou fairest! this full-blown rose,
A token of love that as ripely blows."
With his glove of steel he plucked the token,
But it fell from his gauntlet crushed and broken.

The maiden exclaimed, "Thou seest, sir knight,
Thy fingers of iron can only smite;

And, like the rose thou hast torn and scattered,
I in thy grasp should be wrecked and shattered."

She trembled and blushed, and her glances fell; But she turned from the knight, and said, “Farewell!"

"Not so," he cried, "will I lose my prize;

I heed not thy words, but I read thine eyes."

He lifted her up in his grasp of steel,

And he mounted and spurred with furious heel;

But her cry drew forth her hoary sire,

Who snatched his bow from above the fire.

Swift from the valley the warrior fled,
Swifter the bolt of the cross-bow sped;

And the weight that pressed on the fleet-foot horse

Was the living man, and the woman's corse.