O lullaby, my own deir child !

Lullaby, deir child, deir !
I wold thy father were a king,

Thy mother laid on a bier !” O, open the door, Burd Helen,” he says,

0, open the door to me; Or, as my sword hangs by my gair,* I'll gar

She'll weep for naught for his dear sake; She clasps her sister in her sleep;

Her love in dreams is most awake. Her soul, that once with pleasure shook

Did any eyes her beauty own, Now wonders how they dare to look

On what belongs to him alone. The indignity of taking gifts

Exhilarates her loving breast;
A rapture of submission lifts

Her life into celestial rest.
There's nothing left of what she was,

Back to the babe the woman dies ;
And all the wisdom that she has

Is to love him for being wise. She's confident because she fears ;

And, though discreet when he's away, If none but her dear despot hears,

She'll prattle like a child at play. Perchance, when all her praise is said,

He tells the news, -- a battle won On either side ten thousand dead

Describing how the whole was done :
She thinks, “He's looking on my face !

I am his joy ; whate'er I do,
He sees such time-contenting grace

In that, he'd have me always so !”
And, evermore, for either's sake,

To the sweet folly of the dove She joins the cunning of the snake,

To rivet and exalt his love. Her mode of candor is deceit;

And what she thinks from what she 'll say, (Although I'll never call her cheat,)

Lies far as Scotland from Cathay. Without his knowledge he was won,

Against his nature kept devout ; She'll never tell him how 't was done,

And he will never find it out. If, sudden, he suspects her wiles,

And hears her forging chain and trap, And looks, - she sits in simple smiles,

Her two hands lying in her lap!
Her secret (privilege of the Bard,

Whose fancy is of either sex)
Is mine ; but let the darkness guard

Mysteries that light would more perplex.



in three !”
“That never was my mother's custome,

And I hope it's ne'er be mine; A knicht into her companie,

When she dries a' her pyne."
He hit the door then wi' his foot,

Sae did he wi' his knee;
Till door o' deal, and locks o' steel,

In splinders he gart * flee.

“An askin', an askin', Lord John," she says,

“An askin' ye 'll grant me ; The meanest maid about your house,

To bring a drink to me.
“ An askin', an askin', my dear Lord John,

An askin' ye 'll grant me ;
The warsten bouir in a' your touirs,

For thy young son and me!”
“I grant, I grant your askins, Helen,

An' that and mair frae me ;
The very best bouir in a' my touirs,

For my young son and thee.
“O, have thou comfort, fair Helen,

Be of good cheer, I pray ;
And your bridal and your kirking baith

Shall stand upon ae day.”

And he has ta'en her Burd Helen,

And rowed her in the silk;
And he has ta'en his ain young son,

And washed him in the milk.

And there was ne'er a gayer bridegroom,

Nor yet a blyther bride,
As they, Lord John and Lady Helen,

Neist day to kirk did ride.



BELIEVE ME, IF ALL THOSE ENDEARING If he's capricious, she 'll be so ;

But, if his duties constant are,
She lets her loving favor glow

BELIEVE me, if all those endearing young.charms,
As steady as a tropic star.

Which I gaze on so fondly to-day, Appears there naught for which to weep, Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms,

Made or forced to. Like fairy-gifts fading away !

* Side.


Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou | The bride had consented, the gallant came late ;

For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, Let thy loveliness fade as it will,

Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart Would entwine itself verdantly still.

So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall,

Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, It is not while beauty and youth are thine own, and all.

And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear, Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his That the fervor and faith of a soul may be known, sword

To which time will but make thee more dear ! |(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a O the heart that has truly loved never forgets,

word), But as truly loves on to the close,

“O, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, As the sunflower turns to her god when he sets Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochin: The same look which she turned when he rose ! THOMAS MOORE ("Irish Melodies "). “I long wooed your daughter, my

suit you


var ?"

nied ;

Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its WERE I AS BASE AS IS THE LOWLY

tide, PLAIN.

And now I am come, with this lost love of mine, WERE I as base as is the lowly plain,

To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine, And you, my Love, as high as heaven above,

There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, Yet should the thoughts of me your humble That would gladly be bride to the young Lochswain

in var." Ascend to heaven, in honor of my Love.

The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it

up, Were I as high as heaven above the plain,

He quaffed off the wine, and threw down the cup. And you, my Love, as humble and as low

She looked down to blush, and she looked up to As are the deepest bottoms of the main,

sigh, Whereso'er you were, with you my Love should

With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye. go.

He took her soft hand, ere her mother could Were you the earth, dear Love, and I the skies, bar, My love should shine on you like to the sun, “Now tread we a measure," said young Lochinvar. And look upon you with ten thousand eyes Till heaven waxed blind, and till the world were So stately his form, and so lovely her face, done.

That never a hall such a galliard did grace ;

While her mother did fret, and her father did Whereso'er I am, below, or else above you,

fume, Whereso'er you are, my heart shall truly love you. And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet


and plume ; And the bridemaidens whispered, “'T were bet

ter by far LOCHINVAR.

To have matched our fair cousin with young

Lochinvar." O, YOUNG Lochinvar is coine out of the west, Through all the wide Border his steed was the one touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,

When they reached the hall-door, and the charger And, save his good broadsword, he weapon had

stood near ; none,

So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. So light to the saddle before her he sprung; So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, 'She is won ! we are gone! over bank, bush, There never was knight like the young Lochin

and scaur ;

They 'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for

young Lochinvar. stone,

There was mounting 'mong Græmes of the NethHe swam the Eske River where ford there was erby clan ; none;

Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate,

and they ran ;



The maid and page renewed their strife ;

The palace banged, and buzzed and clackt; And all the long-pent stream of life

Dashed downward in a cataract.

And last of all the king awoke,

And in his chair himself upreared,
And yawned, and rubbed his face, and spoke :

By holy rood, a royal beard !
How say you ? we have slept, my lords ;

My beard has grown into my lap."
The barons swore, with many words,

'T was but an after-dinner's nap.
• Pardy!" returned the king, “but still

My joints are something stiff or so.
My lord, and shall we pass the bill

I mentioned half an hour ago ?" The chancellor, sedate and vain,

In courteous words returned reply; But dallied with his golden chain,

And, smiling, put the question by.

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AND on her lover's arm she leant,

And round her waist she felt it fold ; And far across the hills they went

In that new world which is the old. Across the hills, and far away

Beyond their utmost purple rim, And deep into the dying day,

The happy princess followed him. “I'd sleep another hundred years,

O love, for such another kiss !" O) wake forever, love,” she hears,

“O love, 't was such as this and this." And o'er them many a sliding star,

And many a merry wind was borne, And, streamed through many a golden bar,

The twilight melted into morn. "O eyes long laid in happy sleep!”

O happy sleep, that lightly fled !" “O happy kiss, that woke thy sleep!"

“O love, thy kiss would wake the dead!" And o'er them many a flowing range

Of vapor buoyed the crescent bark; And, rapt through many a rosy change,

The twilight died into the dark. A hundred summers ! can it be?

And whither goest thou, tell me where ! O, seek my father's court with me,

For there are greater wonders there."


There was racing and chasing or. Cannobie Lec,
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 Lochin-

var ?





YEAR after year unto her feet,

She lying on her couch alone,
Across the purple coverlet,

The maiden's jet-black hair has grown;
On either side her trancéd form

Forth streaming from a braid of pearl ;
The slumb'rous light is rich and warm,

And moves not on the rounded curl.

The silk star-broidered coverlid

Unto her limbs itself doth mould,
Languidly ever; and amid

Her full black ringlets, downward rolled,
Glows forth each softly shadowed arm,

With bracelets of the diamond bright.
Her constant beauty doth inform

Stillness with love, and day with light.

She sleeps ; her breathings are not heard

In palace chambers far apart.
The fragrant tresses are not stirred

That lie upon her charméd heart.
She sleeps ; on either hand upswells

The gold-fringed pillow lightly prest;
She sleeps, nor dreams, but ever dwells

A perfect form in perfect rest.







A TOUCH, a kiss! the charm was snapt.

There rose a noise of striking clocks ;
And feet that ran, and doors that clapt,

And barking dogs, and crowing cocks ;
A fuller light illumined all ;

A breeze through all the garden swept ;
A sudden hubbub shook the hall ;

And sixty feet the fountain leapt.

The hedge broke in, the banner blew,

The butler drank, the steward scrawled, The fire shot up, the martin flew,

The parrot screamed, the peacock squalled ;

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They told her how, upon St. Agnes' Eve, St. AGNES' Eve, – ah, bitter chill it was

Young virgins might have visions of delight, The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold ;

And soft adorings from their loves receive The hare limped trembling through the frozen Upon the honeyed middle of the night, grass,

If ceremonies due they did aright; And silent was the flock in woolly fold :

As, supperless to bed they must retire, Numb were the beadman's fingers while he told And couch supine their beauties, lily white ; His rosary, and while his frosted breath,

Nor look behind, nor sideways, but require
Like pious incense from a censer old,

Of heaven with upward eyes for all that they
Seemed taking flight for heaven without a death, desire.
Past the sweet virgin's picture, while his prayer
he saith.

Full of this whim was thoughtful Madeline ;

The music, yearning like a god in pain,
His prayer he saith, this patient, holy man;
Then takes his lamp, and riseth from his knees, Fixed on the floor, saw many a sweeping train

She scarcely heard ; her maiden eyes divine,
And back returneth, meagre, barefoot, wan,

Pass by, — she heeded not at all ; in vain
Along the chapel aisle by slow degrees ;
The sculptured dead, on each side seem to freeze, And back retired ; not cooled by high disdain,

Came many a tiptoe, amorous cavalier,
Emprisoned in black, purgatorial rails ;

But she saw not ; her heart was otherwhere; Knights, ladies, praying in dumb orat’ries,

She sighed for Agnes' dreams, the sweetest of the He passed by ; and his weak spirit fails

year. To think how they may ache in icy hoods and mails.

She danced along with vague, regardless eyes,
Northward he turneth through a little door, Anxious her lips, her breathing quick and short;
And scarce three steps, ere music's golden tongue The hallowed hour was near at hand ; she sighs
Flattered to tears this aged man and poor ; Amid the timbrels, and the thronged resort
But no, — already had his death-bell rung ; Of whisperers in anger, or in sport ;
The joys of all his life were said and sung ;

Mid looks of love, defiance, hate, and scorn,
His was harsh penance on St. Agnes' Eve; Hoodwinked with fairy fancy ; all amort
Another way he went, and soon among

Save to St. Agnes and her lambs unshorn,
Rough ashes sat he for his soul's reprieve, And all the bliss to be before to-morrow morn.
And all night kept awake, for sinners' sake to

So, purposing each moment to retire,
That ancient beadsman heard the prelude soft :

She lingered still. Meantime, across the moors, And so it chanced, for many a door was wide,

Had come young Porphyro, with heart on fire From hurry to and fro. Soon, up aloft,

For Madeline. Beside the portal doors, The silver, snarling trumpets 'gan to chide ;

Buttressed from moonlight, stands he, and im• The level chambers, ready with their pride,

plores Were glowing to receive a thousand guests ;

All saints to give him sight of Madeline ;
The carved angels, ever eager-eyed,

But for one moment in the tedious hours,
Stared, where upon their heads the cornice rests, That he might gaze and worship all unseen ;
With hair blown back, and wings put crosswise Perchance speak, kneel, touch, kiss, – in sooth
on their breasts.

such things have been.






At length burst in the argent revelry,
With plume, tiara, and all rich array,
Numerous as shadows haunting fairily

He ventures in ; let no buzzed whisper tell ;
All eyes be muffled, or a hundred swords
Will storm his heart, love's feverous citadel ;

For him, those chambers held barbarian hordes, | Who keepeth closed a wondrous ridule-bouk, Hyena foemen, and hot-blooded lords,

As spectacled she sits in chimney nook. Whose very dogs would execrations howl But soon his eyes grew brilliant, when she told Against his lineage ; not one breast affords His lady's purpose ; and he scarce could brook Him any mercy, in that mansion foul,

Tears, at the thought of those enchantments cold, Save one old beldame, weak in body and in soul. And Madeline asleep in lap of legends old.

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Ah, happy chance ! the aged creature came, Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose,
Shuffling along with ivory-headed wand, Flushing his brow, and in his pained heart
To where he stood, hid from the torch's flame, Made purple riot; then doth he propose
Behind a broad hall-pillar, far beyond

A stratagem, that makes the beldame start:
The sound of merriment and chorus bland. A cruel man and impious thou art !
He startled her; but soon she knew his face, Sweet lady, let her pray, and sleep and dream
And grasped his fingers in her palsied hand, Alone with her good angels, far apart
Saying, “ Mercy, Porphyro! hie thee from this From wicked men like thee. Go, go! I deem

Thou canst not surely be the same that thou didst They are all here to-night, the whole bloodthirsty seem." race !

“I will not harm her, by all saints I swear!" “Get hence ! get hence ! there's dwarfish Hilde- Quoth Porphyro; “0, may I ne'er find grace brand;

When my weak voice shall whisper its last prayer, He had a fever late, and in the fit

If one of her soft ringlets I displace, He cursed thee and thine, both house and land ; Or look with ruffian passion in her face ; Then there 's that old Lord Maurice, not a whit Good Angela, believe me by these tears ; More tame for his gray hairs -- Alas me ! Ait! Or I will, even in a moment's uce, Flit like a ghost away!" “Ah, gossip dear, Awake, with horrid shout, my foemen's ears, We're safe enough ; here in this arm-chair sit, And beard them, though they be more fanged And tell me how “Good saints, not here, not

than wolves and bears."



here ;


Follow me, child, or else these stones will be thy

He followed through a lowly arched way,
Brushing the cobwebs with his lofty plume ;
And as she muttered “Well-a — well-a-day!”
He found him in a little moonlight room,
Pale, latticed, chill, and silent as a tomb.
“Now tell me where is Madeline," said he,
O, tell me, Angela, by the holy loom
Which none but secret sisterhood may see,
When they St. Agnes’ wool are weaving piously.”

"Ah! why wilt thou affright a feeble soul?
A poor, weak, palsy-stricken, church-yard thing,
Whose passing-bell may ere the midnight toll ;
Whose prayers for thee, each morn and evening,
Were never missed.” Thus plaining, doth she

A gentler speech from burning Porphyro;
So woful, and of such deep sorrowing,
That Angela gives promise she will do
Whatever he shall wish, betide her weal or woe.



"St. Agnes! Ah! it is St. Agnes' Eve, —
Yet men will murder upon holy days;
Thou must hold water in a witch's sieve,
And be liege-lord of all the elves and fays,
To venture so. It fills me with amaze
To see thee, Porphyro ! - St. Agnes' Eve !
God's help! my lady fair the conjurer plays
This very night ; good angels her deceive !
But let me laugh awhile, I've mickle time to

Feebly she laugheth in the languid moon
While Porphyro upon her face doth look,
Like puzzled urchin on an aged crone

Which was, to lead him, in close secrecy,
Even to Madeline's chamber, and there hide
Him in a closet, of such privacy
That he might see her beauty unespied,
And win perhaps that night a peerless bride;
While legioned fairies paced the coverlet,
And pale enchantment held her sleepy-eyed.
Never on such a night have lovers met,
Since Merlin paid his demon all the monstrous



“ It shall be as thou wishest," said the dame;
“All cates and dainties shall be stored there
Quickly on this feast-night; by the tambour


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