They followed from the

snowy

bank Those footmarks, one by one, Into the middle of the plank;

And further there were none !
-Yet some maintain that to this day

She is a living child ;
That you may see sweet Lucy Gray

Upon the lonesome wild.
O’er rough and smooth she trips along,

And never looks behind ;
And sings a solitary song
That whistles in the wind.

WORDSWORTH.

gay.'

• Hunting Song WAKEN, lords and ladies gay ! On the mountain dawns the day ; All the jolly chase is here, With hawk, and horse, and hunting spear ! Hounds are in their couples yelling, Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling ; Merrily, merrily, mingle they, "Waken, lords and ladies Waken, lords and ladies gay! The mist has left the mountain grey, Springlets in the dawn are steaming, Diamonds on the brake are gleaming ; And foresters have busy been, To track the buck in thicket green ; Now we come to chant our lay, “Waken, lords and ladies gay.' Waken, lords and ladies gay! To the greenwood haste away; We can show you where he lies, Fleet of foot, and tall of size ; We can show the marks he made, When 'gainst the oak his antlers fray'd ; You shall see him brought to bay"Waken, lords and ladies gay.'

Louder, louder chant the lay,
Waken, lords and ladies gay!
Tell them youth, and mirth, and glee,
Run a course as well as we;
Time, stern huntsman ! who can baulk,
Stanch as hound, and fleet as hawk?
Think of this, and rise with day,
Gentle lords and ladies gay!

SIR W. SCOTT.

Lord Ullin's Daughter

a

A CHIEFTAIN, to the Highlands bound,

Cries, ‘Boatman, do not tarry ! And I'll give thee a silver pound,

To row us o'er the ferry.' “Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle,

This dark and stormy water?' ‘O, I'm the chief of Ulva's isle,

And this Lord Ullin's daughter. · And fast before her father's men

Three days we've fled together, For should he find us in the glen,

My blood would stain the heather. ‘His horsemen hard behind us ride ;

Should they our steps discover, Then who will cheer my bonny bride

When they have slain her lover?' Outspoke the hardy Highland wight,

' I'll go, my chief— I'm ready ; It is not for your silver bright,

But for your winsome lady :
* And by my word ! the bonny bird

In danger shall not tarry ;
So though the waves are raging white,

I'll row you o'er the ferry.'-
By this the storm grew loud apace,
The water-wraith was shrieking ; 1

· The evil spirit of the waters.

Alid in the scowl of heaven each face

Grew dark as they were speaking.
But still as wilder blew the wind,

And as the night grew drearer,
Adown the glen rode armed men,

Their trampling sounded nearer.-
• haste thee, haste !' the lady cries,

'Though tempests round us gather ;
I'll meet the raging of the skies,

But not an angry father.'-
The boat has left a stormy land,

A stormy sea before her -
When, oh! too strong for human hand,

The tempest gather'd o'er her.
And still they rowd amidst the roar

Of waters fast prevailing :
Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore,

His wrath was changed to wailing.-
For sore dismay'd, through storm and shade,

His child he did discover :-
One lovely hand she stretch'd for aid,

And one was round her lover.
"Come back ! come back !' he cried in grief,

Across this stormy water :
And I'll forgive your Highland chief,

My daughter!-oh my daughter !'-
'Twas vain : the loud waves lashed the shore,

Return or aid preventing ;-
The waters wild went o'er his child, -
And he was left lamenting.

CAMPBELL.

3

The Chimney-Sweeper WHEN my mother died I was very young, And my father sold me while yet my tongue Could scarcely cry, “weep! 'weep! 'weep! 'weep!' So your chimneys I sweep, and in soot I sleep.

There's little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head,
That curl'd like a lamb's back, was shaved ; so I said,
‘Hush, Tom ! never mind it, for when your head's bare,
You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair.'
And so he was quiet : and that very night,
As Tom was a-sleeping, he had such a sight,
That thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, and Jack,
Were all of them lock'd up in coffins of black.
And by came an angel, who had a bright key,
And he open'd the coffins, and set them all free ;
Then down a green plain, leaping, laughing they run,
And wash in a river, and shine in the sun.
Then, naked and white, all their bags left behind,
They rise upon clouds, and sport in the wind;
And the angel told Tom, if he'd be a good boy,
He'd have God for his father, and never want joy.
And so Tom awoke ; and we rose in the dark,
And got with our bags and our brushes to work ;
Though the morning was cold, Tom was happy and warm:
So, if all do their duty, they need not fear harm.

W. BLAKE.

Nora's Vow

I
HEAR what Highland Nora said, -
"The Earlie's son I will not wed,
Should all the race of nature die,
And none be left but he and I.
For all the gold, for all the gear,
And all the lands both far and near,
That ever valour lost or won,
I would not wed the Earlie's son.'

II

“A maiden's vows,' old Callum spoke,

Are lightly made, and lightly broke ;
The heather on the mountai height
Begins to bloom in purple light ;

The frost-wind soon shall sweep away
That lustre deep from glen and brae ;
Yet Nora, ere its bloom be gone,
May blithely wed the Earlie's son.'-

III

• 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,
Before their foes may turn and fly;
But I, were all these marvels done,
Would never wed the Earlie's son.'

IV

Still in the water-lily's shade
Her wonteà nest the wild-swan made ;
Ben-Cruaichan stands as fast as ever,
Still downward foams the Awe's fierce river ;
To shun the clash of foeman's steel,
No Highland brogue has turn’d the heel :
But Nora's heart is lost and won,
-She's wedded to the Earlie's son !

Scott.

Ballad of Agincourt

FAIR stood the wind for France,
When we our sails advance,
Nor now to prove our chance

Longer will tarry;
But putting to the main,
At Caux, the mouth of Seine,
With all his martial train,

Landed King Harry.

And, taking many a fort,
Furnished in warlike sort,
Marcheth tow'rds Agincourt

In happy hour,