LULLABY ON AN INFANT CHIEF. O HUSH thee, my babie, thy sire was a knight,— The woods and the glens, from the towers which we see, O ho ro, i ri ri, cadil gu lo, O ho ro, i ri ri, cadil gu lo. O fear not the bugle, though loudly it blows, Their bows would be bended, their blades would be red, O ho ro, i ri ri, etc. O hush thee, my babie, the time soon will come, HELLVELLYN. I CLIMB'D the dark brow of the mighty Hellvellyn, On the right, Striden-edge round the Red-tarn was bending, One huge nameless rock in the front was ascending, When I mark'd the sad spot where the wanderer had died. Dark green was the spot mid the brown meadow heather, Till the mountain-winds wasted the tenantless clay. How long didst thou think that his silence was slumber? When the wind waved his garment how oft didst thou start? How many long days and long weeks didst thou number, When a prince to the fate of the peasant has yielded, And pages stand mute by the canopied pall: Through the courts, at deep midnight, the torches are gleam ing, In the proudly-arched chapel the banners are beaming, But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature, To lay down thy head like the meek mountain lamb; When, wilder'd he drops from some cliff huge in stature, And draws his last sob by the side of his dam. And more stately thy couch by this desert lake lying, JOCK OF HAZELDEAN. "WHY weep ye by the tide, ladie? I'll wed ye to my youngest son, And But aye she loot the tears down fa' "Now let this wilful grief be done, His step is first in peaceful ha' His sword in battle keen," But aye she loot the tears down fa' For Jock of Hazeldean. “A chain o' gold ye sall not lack, Nor braid to bind your hair; Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk, Nor palfrey fresh and fair: And you, the foremost o' them a', Sall ride our forest queen,' But 99 aye she loot the tears down fa' For Jock of Hazeldean. The kirk was deck'd at morning-tide, The priest and bridegroom wait the bride, The ladie was not seen! She's o'er the Border, and awa' NORA'S VOW. HEAR What Highland Nora said, I would not wed the earlie's son." "A maiden's vows," old Callum spoke, The frost-wind soon shall sweep away "The swan," she said, "the lake's clear breast May barter for the eagle's nest; The Awe's fierce stream may backward turn, Ben-Cruaichan fall, and crush Kilchurn, Our kilted clans, when blood is high, Still in the water-lily's shade Her wonted nest the wild swan made; 14 |