The cock doth craw, the day doth daw,
The channerin' worm doth chide :
If we be miss'd out o' our place,
A sair pain we maun bide.

'Fear ye well, my mother dear!
Farewell to barn and byre !
And fare ye weel, the bonny lass,
That kindles my mother's fire!'

Allen-a-Dale

UNKNOWN.

ALLEN-A-DALE has no fagot for burning,
Allen-a-Dale has no furrow for turning,
Allen-a-Dale has no fleece for the spinning,
Yet Allen-a-Dale has red gold for the winning.
Come, read me my riddle! come, hearken my tale!
And tell me the craft of bold Allen-a-Dale.

The Baron of Ravensworth prances in pride,
And he views his domains upon Arkindale side,
The mere for his net, and the land for his game,
The chase for the wild, and the park for the tame;
Yet the fish of the lake, and the deer of the vale,
Are less free to Lord Dacre than Allen-a-Dale!

Allen-a-Dale was ne'er belted a knight,

Though his spur be as sharp, and his blade be as bright:
Allen-a-Dale is no baron or lord,

Yet twenty tall yeomen will draw at his word;
And the best of our nobles his bonnet will vail,
Who at Rere-cross on Stanmore meets Allen-a-Dale.

Allen-a-Dale to his wooing is come;

The mother, she ask'd of his household and home :
Though the castle of Richmond stand fair on the hill,
My hall,' quoth bold Allen, 'shows gallanter still;
'Tis the blue vault of heaven, with its crescent so pale,
And with all its bright spangles!' said Allen-a-Dale.
The father was steel, and the mother was stone;
They lifted the latch, and they bade him be gone ;
But loud, on the morrow, their wail and their cry:
He had laugh'd on the lass with his bonny black eye.

And she fled to the forest to hear a love-tale,
And the youth it was told by was Allen-a-Dale!

-The Beleaguered City.

I HAVE read, in some old marvellous tale,
Some legend strange and vague,
That a midnight host of spectres pale
Beleaguered the walls of Prague.

Beside the Moldau's rushing stream,
With the wan moon overhead,
There stood, as in an awful dream,
The army of the dead.

White as a sea-fog, landward bound,
The spectral camp was seen,
And, with a sorrowful, deep sound,
The river flowed between.

No other voice nor sound was there,
No drum, nor sentry's pace;
The mist-like banners clasped the air
As clouds with clouds embrace.

But, when the old cathedral bell
Proclaimed the morning prayer,
The white pavilions rose and fell
On the alarmèd air.

Down the broad valley, fast and far
The troubled army fled;
Up rose the glorious morning star,
The ghastly host was dead.

I have read, in the marvellous heart of man,
That strange and mystic scroll,

That an army of phantoms vast and wan
Beleaguer the human soul.

Encamped beside Life's rushing stream,
In Fancy's misty light,

Gigantic shapes and shadows gleam
Portentous through the night.

SCOTT.

Upon its midnight battle ground
The spectral camp is seen,
And, with a sorrowful, deep sound,
Flows the River of Life between.

No other voice, nor sound is there,
In the army of the grave;
No other challenge breaks the air,
But the rushing of Life's wave.

And, when the solemn and deep church bell
Entreats the soul to pray,

The midnight phantoms feel the spell,
The shadows sweep away.

Down the broad Vale of Tears afar

The spectral camp is fled;

Faith shineth as a morning star,

Our ghastly fears are dead.

LONGFELLOW.

Alexander's Feast; or, the Power of Music

'TWAS at the royal feast for Persia won

By Philip's warlike son—

Aloft in awful state

The godlike hero sate

On his imperial throne;

His valiant peers were placed around,

Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound

(So should desert in arms be crown'd);

The lovely Thais by his side

Sate like a blooming eastern bride

In flower of youth and beauty's pride :

Happy, happy, happy pair!

None but the brave

None but the brave

None but the brave deserves the fair!

Timotheus placed on high

Amid the tuneful quire

With flying fingers touch'd the lyre :
The trembling notes ascend the sky

And heavenly joys inspire.
The song began from Jove

Who left his blissful seats above-
Such is the power of mighty love!
A dragon's fiery form belied the god;
Sublime on radiant spires he rode
When he to fair Olympia prest,

And while he sought her snowy breast;
Then round her slender waist he curl'd,

And stamp'd an image of himself, a sovereign of the

world.

-The listening crowd admire the lofty sound!

A present deity! they shout around :

A present deity! the vaulted roofs rebound !
With ravish'd ears

The monarch hears,

Assumes the god,

Affects to nod

And seems to shake the spheres.

The praise of Bacchus then the sweet musician sung— Of Bacchus ever fair and ever young :

The jolly god in triumph comes !

Sound the trumpets, beat the drums!
Flush'd with a purple grace

He shows his honest face:

Now give the hautboys breath; he comes, he comes !
Bacchus, ever fair and young,

Drinking joys did first ordain;

Bacchus' blessings are a treasure,

Drinking is the soldier's pleasure :

Rich the treasure

Sweet the pleasure,

Sweet is pleasure after pain,

Soothed with the sound, the king grew vain;

Fought all his battles o'er again,

And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the

slain !

The master saw the madness rise,

His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes;
And while he Heaven and Earth defied
Changed his hand and check'd his pride.

He chose a mournful Muse
Soft pity to infuse :

He sung Darius great and good,
By too severe a fate

Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen,
Fallen from his high estate,
And weltering in his blood;
Deserted, at his utmost need,
By those his former bounty fed;
On the bare earth exposed he lies
With not a friend to close his eyes.

With downcast looks the joyless victor sate, Revolving in his alter'd soul

The various turns of Chance below;
And now and then a sigh he stole,
And tears began to flow.

The mighty master smiled to see
That love was in the next degree;
'Twas but a kindred sound to move,
For pity melts the mind to love.
Softly sweet, in Lydian measures
Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures.
War, he sung, is toil and trouble,
Honour but an empty bubble,
Never ending, still beginning;
Fighting still, and still destroying ;
If the world be worth thy winning,
Think, O think, it worth enjoying :
Lovely Thais sits beside thee,

Take the good the gods provide thee!

-The many rend the skies with loud applause ; So Love was crown'd, but Music won the cause. The prince, unable to conceal his pain,

Gazed on the fair

Who caused his care,

And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd,
Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again :

At length with love and wine at once opprest
The vanquish'd victor sunk upon her breast.

Now strike the golden lyre again : A louder yet, and yet a louder strain !