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There, where I sang thee, fair babe, to sleep,
And now the horn's loud blast was heard,
Aiid now the cymbal's clang,
A.s cliffs and hollows rang.
"Hark! they bring music, my joyous child!
What saith the trumpet to Suli's wild 1
Doth it light thine eye with so quick a fire,
As if at a glimpse of thine armed sire?
—Still!—be thou still!—there are brave men low—
Thou wouldst not smile couldst thou see him now!"
But nearer came the clash of steel,
And louder swelled the horn;
Through the dark pass was borne.
"Hear'st thou the sounds of their savage mirth?
And from the arrowy peak she sprung,
And fast the fair child bore;
A cry—and all was o'er!
BERNARDINE DU BORN.
King Henry sat upon his throne,
His eye a recreant knight surveyed-
And he that haughty glance returned,
Like lion in his lair,
Gleamed through his crisped hair.
"Thou art a traitor to the realm!
Lord of a lawless band!
The troubler of our land!
Are forfeit to the crown;
Shalt end thy base renown!
Deign'st thou no word to bar thy doom,
Thou with strange madness fired? Hath reason quite forsook thy breast 1"
Plantagenet inquired. Sir Bernard turned him towards the king,
And blenched not in his pride: "My reason failed, most gracious liege,
The year Prince Henry died."
Quick, at that name, a cloud of woe
Passed o'er the monarch's brow; Touched was that bleeding chord of love
To which the mightiest bow;
Again his first-born moved,—
The erring, yet beloved:
And ever, cherished by his side,
One chosen friend was near,
Or youth's untamed career;
Beneath the dewy morn,
This Bernardine du Born.
Then in the mourning father's soul
Eack trace of ire grew dim,
Seemed cleansed of guilt to him;
"God send his grace to thee! And, for the dear sake of the dead,
Go forth unscathed and free."
BALLAD OF KOSABELLE.
Oh, listen, listen, ladies gay!
No haughty feat of arms I tell; Soft is the note, and sad the lay,
That mourns the lovely Rosabelle.
"Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew!
And, gentle ladye, deign to stay! Rest thee in Castle Ravensheugh,
Nor tempt the stormy Firth to-day.
The blackening wave is edged with white;
To inch and rock the sea-mews fly; The fishers have heard the Water Sprite,
Whose screams forebode that wreck is nigh
Last night the gifted seer did view
Then stay thee, Fair, in Ravensheugh:
''Tis not because Lord Lindesay's heir
But that my ladye-mother there
'Tis not because the ring they ride,
But that my sire the wine will chide,
O'er Roslin all that dreary night
Twas broader than the watch-fire light,
It glared on Roslin's castled rock,
It ruddied all the copse-wood glen; 'Twas seen from Dryden's groves of oak,
And seen from caverned Hawthornden.
Seemed all on fire that chapel proud,
Each baron, for a sable shroud,
Seemed all on fire within, around,
Deep sacristy and altar's pale; Shone every pillar foliage-bound,
And glimmered all the dead men's mail.
Blazed battlement and pinnet high,
Blazed every rose-carved buttress fair-
There are twenty of Roslin's barons bold
Each one the holy vault doth hold—
And each St. Clair was buried there,
But the sea-caves rung, and the wild winds sung,
Sir Walter Soott.
Tis pleasant, by the cheerful hearth, to hear
THE VETERAN TAB.
A Mariner, whom fate compelled
To make his home ashore,
With ivy mantled o'er;
The sound of ocean's roar.
He placed yon vane upon the roof,
For breathless days and breezy' days
When rocked amid the shrouds, or on
And in his spot of garden ground
Salt lavender, that lacks perfume,