SLEEP AMONG THE CHEVIOTS. His arms like limbs of knotted yew; With right good will, As if to build an ark! No rustic song is on his tongue, No whistle on his lips; But with a quiet thoughtfulness His trusty tool he grips, 99 And, stroke on stroke, keeps hacking out The bright and flying chips. Hood. SLEEP AMONG THE CHEVIOTS. Graze on, graze on, there comes no sound No slogan-cry of gathering clan, No belted knight,in armour bright, Ye wis not that ye press the spot Where Percy held his way 100 SLEEP AMONG THE CHEVIOTS, Across the marches in his pride, The "choicest harts to slay;" And where the stout earl Douglas rode Ye wis not that ye press the spot King James and all his gallant train And led his flower of chivalry, As to a tournament. He led them on in power and pride; They on the blood-stained heather slept, Graze on, graze on, there's many a rill, Bright sparkling through the glade, Where ye may freely slake your thirst, Has mirrored many a blade. WORDS OF TRUST. 101 There's many a wandering stream that flows For Scotia from her hills hath come, Love all the better for the past; Mrs. Sigourney. THE WORDS OF TRUST. Three words of inward power I speak, Man is but vile and worthless dust, FREEDOM is man's, he free was made, By shouting throngs or tyrant's scorn, 102 WORDS OF TRUST. The slave, when snapped his chain, may scan With brow erect his fellow man. VIRTUE is not an empty sound, Where reason fails, there trusted be, There is a GOD, whose will sublime While all in changing circle sweeps, Guard then these words of power I speak, Of a trusting faith in these words can be. DEAD SKY-LARK. THE DEAD SKY-LARK. 103 The sky-lark has perceived his prison door Unclosed; for liberty the captive tries: Puss eagerly hath watched him from the floor, And in her grasp he flutters, pants, and dies. Lucy's own puss and Lucy's own dear bird, Her foster'd favourites both for many a day, That which the tender-hearted girl preferr'd, She in her fondness knew not sooth to say. For if the sky-lark's pipe was shrill and strong, And its rich tones the thrilling ear might please, Yet Pussybel could breath a fireside song As winning, when she lay on Lucy's knees. Both knew her voice, and each alike would seek Her eye, her smile, her fondling touch to gain, How faintly then may words her sorrow speak, When by the one she sees the other slain. * |