And this dog was satisfied, This dog, if a friendly voice Therefore to this dog will I, Render praise and favour! And because he loves me so, Blessings on thee, dog of mine, Sunshine help thy sleeping! Whiskered cats arointed flee, Nuts lie in thy path for stones, Mock I thee, in wishing weal ? Yet be blessed to the height MRS. BROWNING. Alice Brand I MERRY it is in the good greenwood, When the mavis and merle are singing, When the deer sweeps by, and the hounds are in cry, And the hunter's horn is ringing. 'O Alice Brand, my native land Is lost for love of you; And we must hold by wood and wold, 'O Alice, 'twas all for thy locks so bright, 'Now must I teach to hew the beech, 'And for vest of pall, thy fingers small, That wont on harp to stray, A cloak must shear from the slaughter'd deer, -'O Richard! if my brother died, If pall and vair no more I wear, 'And, Richard, if our lot be hard, Still Alice has her own Richard, And he his Alice Brand.' II 'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood, Up spoke the moody Elfin King, Who wonn'd within the hill,— Like wind in the porch of a ruin'd church, 'Why sounds yon stroke on beech and oak, Our moonlight circle's screen? Or who comes here to chase the deer, Or who may dare on wold to wear Up, Urgan, up! to yon mortal hie, • Lay on him the curse of the wither'd heart, 'Till he wish and pray that his life would part, III 'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood, Up Urgan starts, that hideous dwarf, But out then spoke she, Alice Brand, 'And if there's blood upon his hand, -Now loud thou liest, thou bold of mood! It cleaves unto his hand, The stain of thine own kindly blood, Then forward stepp'd she, Alice Brand, 'And if there's blood on Richard's hand, 'And I conjure thee, Demon elf, By Him whom Demons fear, IV "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 ringing : 'And gaily shines the Fairy-land- Like the idle gleam that December's beam 'And fading, like that varied gleam, Who now like knight and lady seem, 'It was between the night and day, 'But wist I of a woman bold, Who thrice my brow durst sign, I might regain my mortal mould, She cross'd him once-she cross'd him twice That lady was so brave; The fouler grew his goblin hue, The darker grew the cave. She cross'd him thrice, that lady bold! -He rose beneath her hand The fairest knight on Scottish mould, Her brother, Ethert Brand! -Merry it is in good greenwood, 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, My plaidie to the angry airt, I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee. |