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Out spoke 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;

And 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 armèd men,
Their trampling sounded nearer.

"Oh! haste thee, haste !" the lady cries,

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For sore dismayed* through storm and shade, 45
His child he did discover:

One lovely hand she stretched 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.*



ROBERT BURNS (1759-1796), the great lyric poet of Scotland, was the son of a small farmer in Ayrshire. He owed little or nothing to education, and, in his genius, followed the impulse of nature alone. Chief poems: Hallowe'en, The Cottar's Saturday Night, Tam o' Shanter, and a magnificent collection of songs.

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WEE,* sleekit,* cow'rin',* tim'rous beastie,*
O what a panic's in thy breastie !
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,

Wi' bickering brattle! *

I wad be laith* to rin and chase thee
Wi' murd'ring pattle!*

I'm truly sorry man's dominion
Has broken Nature's social union,
And justifies that ill opinion

Which makes thee startle

At me, thy poor earth-born companion,
And fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whyles,* but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen icker* in a thrave*

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Wee, very little.
Sleekit, sleek, smooth.
Cow'rin', crouching
with fear.

Beastie, little beast.
Bickering battle, rac-
ing backwards and

Laith, unwilling, loath.

Pattle, the stick used for clearing away the clodsfrom the plough

Whyles, sometimes.

A daimen icker, &c., an ear of corn now and then from the bundle.

Thrave, twenty-four

The lave, the rest,
what is left.
Wa's, walls.

Big, build.

Foggage, after-grass.

Ensuin', coming on.

Snell, biting.

Cozie, comfortable, happy.

Coulter, plough-iron.

Cell, nest.

Stibble, stalks of corn
left in the ground
after reaping.
But house, &c., with
out a dwelling place.
Thole, bear.
Cranreuch, hoar-

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Dew, the moisture which falls upon the earth from the air, chiefly at night.

Espied, saw.

Kine, cows.

Tether'd, fastened.

THE PET LAMB.-Wordsworth.

THE dew*

was falling fast, the stars began to

I heard a voice; it said "Drink, pretty creature,


And looking o'er the hedge, before me I espied
A snow-white mountain lamb, with a maiden at

its side.

Nor sheep, nor kine* were near; the lamb was
all alone

And by a slender cord was tether'd* to a stone;
With one knee on the grass did the little maiden

While to that mountain lamb she gave its even-
ing meal.

The lamb, while from her hand he thus his
supper took,

Seem'd to feast with head and ears; and his tail
with pleasure shook :

"Drink, pretty creature, drink!" she said in

such a tone

That I almost received her heart into my own.

'Twas little Barbara Lewthwaite, a child of
beauty rare!

I watch'd them with delight, they were a lovely


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Now with her empty can the maiden turn'd away; 15
But ere ten yards were gone, her footsteps did

she stay.

Right towards the lamb she look'd; and from that shady

I unobserved could see the workings of her face;
If Nature to her tongue could measured numbers* bring,


20 Thus, thought I, to her lamb that little maid might sing: numbers,



"What ails thee, Young one? what? Why pull so at poetry.
thy cord?

Is it not well with thee? well both for bed and board?
Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass can be ;
Rest, little Young one, rest; what is't that aileth thee?

"What is it thou would seek? What is wanting to thy

Thy limbs are they not strong? and beautiful thou art!
This grass is tender grass; these flowers they have no



And that green corn all day is rustling in thy ears.

"If the sun be shining hot, do but stretch thy woollen





30 This beech is standing by, its covert thou canst gain; For rain and mountain-storms !-the like thou need'st ing; it could

not fear,

The rain and storm are things that scarcely can come

66 Rest, little Young one, rest; thou hast forgot the day
When my father found thee first in places far away;
35 Many flocks were on the hills, but thou wert own'd by


And thy mother from thy side for evermore was gone.

"He took thee in his arms, and in pity brought thee

home :

A blessed day for thee !-then whither wouldst thou
roam ?

lie in the shade of the beech-tree.

A faithful nurse thou hast ; the dam * that did thee yean Dam, a 40 Upon the mountain-tops no kinder could have been.


"Thou know'st that twice a day I have brought thee in

this can

female sheep having lambs.

Fresh water from the brook, as clear as ever ran;
And twice in the day, when the ground is wet with dew, Yoke, to fas-
I bring thee draughts of milk, warm milk it is and new.

"Thy limbs will shortly be twice as stout as they are now,
Then I'll yoke* thee to my cart like a pony in the plough!
My playmate thou shalt be; and when the wind is cold
Our hearth shall be thy bed, our house shall be thy fold.*

ten it to the cart like a horse, to har

ness it. Fold, an enclosed place for keeping sheep.

Belike, perhaps, probably.

Raven, a bird of


Hard by, close

at hand, near.

Damsel, a girl.

"It will not, will not rest!-Poor creature, can it be
That 'tis thy mother's heart which is working so in

Things that I know not of belike* to thee are dear,
And dreams of things which thou canst neither see

nor hear.

"Alas, the mountain-tops that look so green and fair I've heard of fearful winds and darkness that come




The little brooks that seem all pastime and all play, 55
When they are angry, roar like lions for their prey.
"Here thou need'st not dread the raven* in the sky;
Night and day thou art safe,-our cottage is hard by.
Why bleat so after me? Why pull so at thy chain?
Sleep-and at break of day I will come to thee
again !"

-As homeward through the lane I went with lazy

This song to myself did I oftentimes repeat;
And it seem'd, as I retraced the ballad line by line,
That but half of it was hers, and one half of it was

Again, and once again, did I repeat the song;
"Nay," said I, "more than half to the damsel* must

For she look'd with such a look, and she spake with
such a tone,

That I almost received her heart into my own."

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THERE is no flock, however watched and tended,*

But one dead lamb is there!

There is no fire-side, howso'er defended,*
But has one vacant * chair!

The air is full of farewells to the dying,
And mournings for the dead;


The heart of Rachel * for her children crying,
Will not be comforted.

Let us be patient! These severe afflictions
Not from the ground arise,

But oftentimes celestial* benedictions
Assume* this dark disguise.'





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