O'er Roslin all that dreary night A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam; It glared on Roslin's castled rock, Seemed all on fire that chapel proud, Seemed all on fire, within, around, And glimmered all the dead men's mail. Blazed battlement and pinnet high, There are twenty of Roslin's barons bold And each St. Clair was buried there, But the sea-caves rung, and the wild winds sung, From The Lay of the Last Minstrel. O LOCHINVAR. H, young Lochinvar is come out of the west; Through all the wide Border his steed was the best, And save his good broadsword he weapons had none; He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone, The bride had consented, the gallant came late : So boldly he entered the Netherby hall, Among bridesmen and kinsmen, and brothers and all: 'I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied ; The bride kissed the goblet, the knight took it up, So stately his form, and so lovely her face, That never a hall such a galliard did grace; While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, When they reached the hall door, and the charger stood near; So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung !— 'She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur; They'll have fleet steeds that follow, 'quoth young Lochinvar. There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan; So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar? From Marmion. A COUNTY GUY. H! County Guy, the hour is nigh, The sun has left the lea; The orange flower perfumes the bower, The breeze is on the sea. The lark, his lay who thrilled all day, Breeze, bird, and flower, confess the hour, The village maid steals through the shade, Her shepherd's suit to hear; To beauty shy, by lattice high, The star of Love, all stars above, Now reigns o'er earth and sky; THE SUN UPON THE WEIRDLAW HILL. HE sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill, THE In Ettrick's vale, is sinking sweet; Bears those bright hues that once it bore; Though evening, with her richest dye, Flames o'er the hills of Ettrick's shore. With listless look along the plain, I see Tweed's silver current glide, And coldly mark the holy fane Of Melrose rise in ruined pride. The quiet lake, the balmy air, The hill, the stream, the tower, the tree,Are they still such as once they were? Or is the dreary change in me? Alas, the warped and broken board, How can it bear the painter's dye! To feverish pulse each gale blows chill; And Araby's or Eden's bowers Were barren as this moorland hill. JAMES HOGG. Born 1770. Died 1835. KILMENY. NY Kilmeny gaed up the glen; BONNY But it wasna to meet Duneira's men, And lang, lang greet ere Kilmeny come hame. When many a day had come and fled, When grief grew calm, and hope was dead, When mass for Kilmeny's soul had been sung, When the bedesman had prayed, and the dead-bell rung, Late, late in a gloamin', when all was still, When the fringe was red on the westlin hill; The wood was sere, the moon i' the wane, The reek o' the cot hung over the plain- |