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' Lay on him the curse of the wither'd heart,
The curse of the sleepless eye ;
Nor yet find leave to die!'
'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood,
Though the birds have stilld their singing ; The evening blaze doth Alice raise,
And Richard is fagots bringing. Up Urgan starts, that hideous dwarf,
Before Lord Richard stands, And as he cross'd and bless'd himself, · I fear not sign,' quoth the grisly elf,
“That is made with bloody hands.' But out then spoke she, Alice Brand,
That woman void of fear,"And if there's blood upon his hand,
'Tis but the blood of deer.'
--Now loud thou liest, thou bold of mood !
It cleaves unto his hand,
The blood of Ethert Brand.'
And made the holy sign,-
A spotless hand is mine.
By Him whom Demons fear,
And what thine errand here?
_"'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in Fairy-land,
When fairy birds are singing, When the court doth ride by their monarch's side,
With bit and bridle ng :
* And gaily shines the Fairy-land-
But all is glistening show,
Can dart on ice and snow.
* And fading, like that varied gleam,
Is our inconstant shape,
And now like dwarf and ape.
When the Fairy King has power,
To the joyless Elfin bower.
Who thrice my brow durst sign, I might regain my mortal mould,
As fair a form as thine.'
That lady was so brave;
The darker grew the cave.
--He rose beneath her hand
Her brother, Ethert Brand !
When the mavis and merle are singing ; But merrier were they in Dumfermline gray When all the bells were ringing.
SIR W. SCOTT.
O, wert thou in the cauld blast
O, WERT thou in the cauld blast,
On yonder lea, on yonder lea,
I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee.
As Slow our Ship
As slow our ship her foamy track
Against the wind was cleaving, Her trembling pennant still looked back
To that dear isle 'twas leaving. So loth we part from all we love,
From all the links that bind us ; So turn our hearts, where'er we rove,
To those we've left behind us ! When, round the bowl, of vanished years
We talk, with joyous seeming, With smiles, that might as well be tears,
So faint, so sad their beaming ;
Each early tie that twined us,
To those we've left behind us !
Some isle or vale enchanting, Where all looks flowery, wild, and sweet,
And nought but love is wanting ; We think how great had been our bliss,
If Heaven had but assigned us To live and die in scenes like this,
With some we've left behind us !
When eastward darkly going,
Still faint behind them glowing, -.
To gloom hath near consigned us,
A red, red Rose
That's newly sprung in June :
That's sweetly play'd in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I :
Till a' the seas gang dry.
And the rocks melt wi' the sun :
While the sands o' life shall run.
And fare thee weel awhile !
Tho it were ten thousand mile.
ROBERT BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY
SCOTS, wha hae wi’ Wallace bled,
Or to victorie.
Now's the day, and now's the hour ;
Chains and slaverie !
Let him turn and flee !
Wha for Scotland's King and law
Let him follow me !
By oppression's woes and pains !
But they shall be free !
Lay the proud usurpers low!
THE Minstrel-boy to the war is gone,
In the ranks of death you'll find him ; His father's sword he has girded on,
And his wild harp slung behind him. * Land of song !' said the warrior-bard,
'Though all the world betrays thee,
One faithful harp shall praise thee!'
Could not bring his proud soul under ;
For he tore its chords asunder ; And said, 'No chains shall sully thee,
Thou soul of love and bravery ! Thy songs were made for the brave and free, They shall never sound in slavery!'
It was a' for our rightfu' King,
We left fair Scotland's strand ;
And a' is done in vain ;