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Take, Fortune, whatever you choose;
You gave, and may snatch again:
I have nothing 't would pain me to lose,
For I own no more castles in Spain !

James Russell Lowell.

THE MERRY LARK

THE merry, merry lark was up and singing,
And the hare was out and feeding on the lea,
And the merry, merry bells below were ringing,
When my child's laugh rang through me.

Now the hare is snared and dead beside the snow

yard,

And the lark beside the dreary winter sea, And my baby in his cradle in the churchyard Waiteth there until the bells bring me.

Charles Kingsley.

A SPRING LILT

THROUGH the silver mist

Of the blossom-spray

Trill the orioles: list

To their joyous lay!

"What in all the world, in all the world," they say, "Is half so sweet, so sweet, is half so sweet as May?"

"June! June! June!"

Low croon

JOCK OF HAZELDEAN

The brown bees in the clover.

"Sweet! sweet! sweet!"

Repeat

The robins, nested over.

JOCK OF HAZELDEAN

I

"WHY weep ye by the tide, ladie?
Why weep ye by the tide?
I'll wed ye to my youngest son,
And ye sall be his bride :

And ye sall be his bride, ladie,
Sae comely to be seen

But

aye she loot the tears down fa'

For Jock of Hazeldean.

II

"Now let this wilfu' grief be done, And dry that cheek so pale; Young Frank is chief of Errington,

And lord of Langley-dale;

His step is first in peaceful ha',

His sword in battle keen

But

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aye she loot the tears down fa'

For Jock of Hazeldean.

III

"A chain of gold ye sall not lack,

Nor braid to bind your hair;

105

Unknown.

Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk,

Nor palfrey fresh and fair;

And you, the foremost o' them a',

Shall ride our forest queen

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But aye she loot the tears down fa'

For Jock of Hazeldean.

IV

The kirk was decked at morning-tide,
The tapers glimmered fair;

The priest and bridegroom wait the bride,
And dame and knight are there;
They sought her baith by bower and ha'
The ladie was not seen!

She's o'er the border, and awa'

Wi' Jock of Hazeldean.

Sir Walter Scott.

CANADIAN BOAT-SONG

FAINTLY as tolls the evening chime,

Our voices keep tune, and our oars keep time.
Soon as the woods on shore look dim,
We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn.
Row, brothers, row! the stream runs fast,
The rapids are near, and the daylight's past.

Why should we yet our sails unfurl? —
There is not a breath the blue wave to curl.
But when the wind blows off the shore
Oh, sweetly we 'll rest our weary oar!
Blow, breezes, blow! the stream runs fast,
The rapids are near, and the daylight's past.

ROSE AYLMER-ROSABELLE

Utawa's tide! this trembling moon
Shall see us float over thy surges soon.
Saint of this green isle, hear our prayers,
Oh, grant us cool heavens and favoring airs!
Blow, breezes, blow! the stream runs fast,
The rapids are near, and the daylight's past.

107

Thomas Moore.

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
May weep, but never see,

A night of memories and sighs

I consecrate to thee.

eyes

Walter Savage Landor.

ROSABELLE

Он, listen, listen, ladies gay!
No haughty feat of arms I tell ;
Soft is the note, and sad the lay
That mourns the lovely Rosabelle.

66 Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew,
And, gentle lady, deign to stay!
Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch,
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

A wet shroud swathed round lady gay; Then stay thee, Fair, in Ravensheuch; Why cross the gloomy firth to-day?"

""Tis not because Lord Lindesay's heir
To-night at Roslin leads the ball;
But that my lady mother there
Sits lonely in her castle hall.

""Tis not because the ring they ride,

And Lindesay at the ring rides well,
But that my sire the wine will chide
If 't is not filled by Rosabelle."

O'er Roslin all that weary night

A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam; "T was broader than the watch-fire's light, And redder than the bright moonbeam.

It glared on Roslin's castled rock,

It ruddied all the copse-wood glen : "T was seen from Dryden's groves of oak, And seen from caverned Hawthornden.

Seemed all on fire that chapel proud,

Where Roslin's chiefs uncoffined lie,

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