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III

'A chain of 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',
Shall ride our forest queen'-
But aye she loot the tears down fa'
For Jock of Hazeldean.

IV

The kirk was deck'd at morning-tide,
The tapers glimmer'd fair ;

The priest and bridegroom wait the bride,
And dame and knight are there.

They sought her baith by bower and ha' The ladie was not seen!

She's o'er the Border, and awa'

Wi' Jock of Hazeldean.

The Recollection

WE wandered to the pine forest
That skirts the ocean's foam;
The lightest wind was in its nest,
The tempest in its home.

SCOTT.

The whispering waves were half asleep,
The clouds were gone to play,

And on the bosom of the deep

The smile of heaven lay;

It seem'd as if the hour were one
Sent from beyond the skies,
Which scatter'd from above the sun
A light of Paradise!

We paused amid the pines that stood
The giants of the waste,

Tortured by storms to shapes as rude
As serpents interlaced,

And soothed by every azure breath
That under heaven is blown,
To harmonies and hues beneath,
As tender as its own;

Now all the tree-tops lay asleep
Like green waves on the sea,
As still as in the silent deep
The ocean woods may be.

How calm it was !-the silence there
By such a chain was bound
That even the busy woodpecker
Made stiller by her sound
The inviolable quietness;

The breath of peace we drew
With its soft motion made not less
The calm that round us grew.

There seemed from the remotest seat
Of the white mountain waste
To the soft flower beneath our feet,
A magic circle traced,-

A spirit interfused around,

A thrilling silent life :
To momentary peace it bound

Our mortal nature's strife.

And still I felt the centre of

The magic circle there

Was one fair form that fill'd with love
The lifeless atmosphere.

We paused beside the pools that lie
Under the forest bough.
Each seem'd as 'twere a little sky
Gulf'd in a world below:
A firmament of purple light

Which in the dark earth lay,

More boundless than the depth of night

And purer than the day—

In which the lovely forests grew

As in the upper air,

More perfect both in shape and hue

Than any spreading there.

There lay the glade, the neighbouring lawn,

And through the dark-green wood

The white sun twinkling like the dawn

Out of a speckled cloud.

Sweet views which in our world above

Can never well be seen

Were imaged by the water's love
Of that fair forest green;
And all was interfused beneath
With an Elysian glow,

An atmosphere without a breath,
A softer day below.

Like one beloved, the scene had lent

To the dark water's breast

Its every leaf and lineament

With more than truth exprest;
Until an envious wind crept by,-
Like an unwelcome thought
Which from the mind's too faithful eye
Blots one dear image out.

Though Thou art ever fair and kind,
And forests ever green,

Less oft is peace in Shelley's mind
Than calm in waters seen.

P. B. SHELLEY

Auld Robin Gray

WHEN the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame,
And a' the warld to rest are gane,

The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my e'e,
While my gudeman lies sound by me.

Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and sought me for his bride;
But saving a croun he had naething else beside :
To make the croun a pund, young Jamie gaed to sea ;
And the croun and the pund were baith for me.

He hadna been awa' a week but only twa,

When my father brak his arm, and the cow was stown awa';
My mother she fell sick, and my Jamie at the sea—
And auld Robin Gray came a-courtin' me.

My father couldna work, and my mother couldna spin ;
I toil'd day and night, but their bread I couldna win ;
Auld Rob maintain'd them baith, and wi' tears in his e'e
Said, 'Jennie, for their sakes, O, marry me !'

My heart it said nay; I look'd for Jamie back;
But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wrack;

His ship it was a wrack—why didna Jamie dee,
Or why do I live to cry, Wae's me?

My father urgit sair: my mother didna speak;

But she look'd in my face till my heart was like to break :
They gi'ed him my hand, but my heart was at the sea:
Sae auld Robin Gray he was gudeman to me.

I hadna been a wife a week but only four,
When mournfu' as I sat on the stane at the door,
I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I couldna think it he—
Till he said, 'I'm come hame to marry thee.'

-O sair, sair did we greet, and muckle did we say ;
We took but ae kiss, and I bad him gang away :
I wish that I were dead, but I'm no like to dee ;
And why was I born to say, Wae's me!

I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin ;
I daurna think of Jamie, for that wad be a sin;
But I'll do my best a gude wife aye to be,
For auld Robin Gray he is kind unto me.

LADY A. LINDSAY.

Willie Drowned in Yarrow

Down in yon garden sweet and gay
Where bonny grows the lily,
I heard a fair maid sighing say,
'My wish be wi' sweet Willie !

'Willie's rare, and Willie's fair,

And Willie's wondrous bonny;
And Willie hecht to marry me
Gin e'er he married ony.

'O gentle wind, that bloweth south,
From where my Love repaireth,
Convey a kiss frae his dear mouth
And tell me how he fareth!

'O tell sweet Willie to come dour
And hear the mavis singing,
And see the birds on ilka bush

And leaves around them hinging.

'The lav'rock there, wi' her white breast
And gentle throat sae narrow :
There's sport eneuch for gentlemen
On Leader-haughs and Yarrow.

'O Leader-haughs are wide and braid
And Yarrow-haughs are bonny;
There Willie hecht to marry me
If e'er he married ony.

'But Willie's gone, whom I thought on,
And does not hear me weeping;
Draws many a tear frae true love's e'e
When other maids are sleeping.

'O came ye by yon water-side?
Pou'd you the rose or lily?

Or came you by yon meadow green,
Or saw you my sweet Willie?'

She sought him up, she sought him down,
She sought him braid and narrow;

Syne, in the cleaving of a craig,

She found him drown'd in Yarrow!

UNKNOWN.

The Reverie of Poor Susan

AT the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears, Hangs a Thrush that sings loud, it has sung for three

years:

Poor Susan has passed by the spot, and has heard
In the silence of morning the song of the Bird.

She sees

'Tis a note of enchantment; what ails her?
A mountain ascending, a vision of trees;
Bright volumes of vapour through Lothbury glide,
And a river flows on through the vale of Cheapside.

Green pastures she views in the midst of the dale,
Down which she so often has tripped with her pail ;
And a single small cottage, a nest like a dove's,
The one only dwelling on earth that she loves.

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