So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall,

Among bridesmen 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)
"Oh, 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 Lochinvar."

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 her 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 bridemaidens whispered, "'T were better by far
To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar."

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 Loch

invar.

There was mounting 'mong Græmes 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?

Walter Scott

ANNIE LAURIE

Maxwelton braes are bonnie
Where early fa's the dew,
And it's there that Annie Laurie
Gie'd me her promise true-
Gie'd me her promise true,
Which ne'er forgot will be;
And for bonnie Annie Laurie
I'd lay me doun and dee.

Her brow is like the snaw-drift;
Her throat is like the swan;

Her face it is the fairest

That e'er the sun shone on-
That e'er the sun shone on-
And dark blue is her ee;
And for bonnie Annie Laurie
I'd lay me doun and dee.

AULD LANG SYNE

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to min'?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne?

CHORUS

For auld lang syne, my dear,

For auld lang syne,

We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne!

And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp,

And surely I'll be mine;

And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet
For auld lang syne.

For auld, &c.

We twa hae run about the braes,
And pu'd the gowans fine;

But we've wander'd mony a weary fit

Sin' auld lang syne.

For auld, &c.

We twa hae paidled i' the burn,
Frae mornin sun till dine;

But seas between us braid hae roar'd
Sin' auld lang syne.

For auld, &c.

And here's a hand, my trusty fiere,

And gie's a hand o' thine;

And we'll tak a right guid-willie waught,

For auld lang syne.
For auld, &c.

-Robert Burns

DUNCAN GRAY

Duncan Gray cam here to woo,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't!

On blythe Yule-Night when we were fou,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't!

Maggie coost her head fu' high,
Look'd asklent and unco skeigh,
Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh;
Ha, ha, the wooing o't!

Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd;
Ha, ha, the wooing o't!

Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't!

Duncan sigh'd baith out and in,
Grat his een baith bleer't and blin',
Spak o' lowpin o'er a linn;

Ha, ha, the wooing o't!

Time and chance are but a tide,
Ha, ha, the wooing o't!

Slighted love is sair to bide,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't!

"Shall I, like a fool," quoth he,
"For a haughty hizzie die?

She may gae to France for me!"

Ha, ha, the wooing o't!

How it comes let doctors tell,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't!

Meg grew sick as he grew well,
Ha, ha, the wooing o't!

Something in her bosom wrings,
For relief a sigh she brings;

And O, her een, they spak sic things!
Ha, ha, the wooing o't!

Duncan was a lad o' grace,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't!

Maggie's was a piteous case,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't!

Duncan couldna be her death,

Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath;

Now they're crouse and cantie baith!

Ha, ha, the wooing o't!

THE SHIPWRECK

FROM Don Juan, Canto II

XXVII

At one o'clock the wind with sudden shift

Robert Burns

Threw the ship right into the trough of the sea,