As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I :

And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun :
I will luve thee still, my dear,

While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only luve,
And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile.

/ Bannockburn

ROBERT BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY

SCOTS, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led;
Welcome to your gory bed,

Or to victorie.

Now's the day, and now's the hour;
See the front o' battle lower;

See approach proud Edward's power-
Chains and slaverie !

Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha can fill a coward's grave?
Wha sae base as be a slave?
Let him turn and flee!

Wha for Scotland's King and law
Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
Free-man stand, or free-man fa'?
Let him follow me!

By oppression's woes and pains!
By your sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be free!

Lay the proud usurpers low !
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty's in every blow!
Let us do, or die!

BURNS.

The Minstrel-Boy

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 sword, at least, thy rights shall guard,
One faithful harp shall praise thee !'
The Minstrel fell!-but the foeman's chain
Could not bring his proud soul under;
The harp he loved ne'er spoke again,
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!'

The Farewell

It was a' for our rightfu' King,
We left fair Scotland's strand;

It was a' for our rightfu' King
We e'er saw Irish land,
My dear;

We e'er saw Irish land.

Now a' is done that men can do,
And a' is done in vain ;

My love and native land farewell,
For I maun cross the main,

My dear;

For I maun cross the main.

MOORE.

E

50

He turn'd him right and round about
Upon the Irish shore;

And gae his bridle-reins a shake,
With adieu for evermore,

My dear;

With adieu for evermore.

The sodger from the wars returns,
The sailor frae the main ;
But I hae parted frae my love,

Never to meet again,

My dear;

Never to meet again.

When day is gane, and night is come,
And a' folk bound to sleep;
I think on him that's far awa',
The lee-lang night, and weep,
My dear;

The lee-lang night, and weep.

AUTHORSHIP UNCERTAIN.

The Harp that once through Tara's Halls

THE harp that once through Tara's halls

The soul of music shed,

Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls

As if that soul were fled.

So sleeps the pride of former days,

So glory's thrill is o'er,

And hearts, that once beat high for praise,
Now feel that pulse no more.

No more to chiefs and ladies bright
The harp of Tara swells:

The chord alone, that breaks at night,
Its tale of ruin tells.

Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes,
The only throb she gives

Is when some heart indignant breaks,
To show that still she lives.

MOORE.

Stanzas

COULD Love for ever
Run like a river,

And Time's endeavour

Be tried in vain-
No other pleasure

With this could measure;

And like a treasure

We'd hug the chain.
But since our sighing

Ends not in dying,

And, form'd for flying,

Love plumes his wing;

Then for this reason

Let's love a season;

But let that season be only Spring.

When lovers parted

Feel broken-hearted,
And, all hopes thwarted
Expect to die;
A few years older,
Ah! how much colder
They might behold her
For whom they sigh!

BYRON.

A Sea Dirge

FULL fathom five thy father lies:
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes:
Nothing of him that doth fade,

But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell ;
Hark! now I hear them-

Ding, Dong, Bell.

SHAKESPEARE.

Rose Aylmer

AH! what avails the sceptred race,
Ah! what the form divine!
What every virtue, every grace!
Rose Aylmer, all were thine.

Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes
May weep, but never see,

A night of memories and of sighs
I consecrate to thee.

Song

LANDOR.

WHO is Silvia? what is she,

That all our swains commend her? Holy, fair and wise is she;

The heaven such grace did lend her That she might admired be.

Is she kind, as she is fair?

For beauty lives with kindness.
Love doth to her eyes repair,

To help him of his blindness;
And, being help'd, inhabits there.
Then to Silvia let us sing,
That Silvia is excelling;
She excels each mortal thing
Upon the dull earth dwelling ;
To her let us garlands bring.

SHAKESPEARE

Lucy Ashton's Song

Look not thou on beauty's charming,—
Sit thou still when kings are arming,—
Taste not when the wine-cup glistens,-
Speak not when the people listens,-
Stop thine ear against the singer,
From the red gold keep thy finger,-
Vacant heart, and hand, and eye,
Easy live and quiet die.

SCOTT.