YOUNG LOCHINVAR. (SIR W. SCOTT.) O YOUNG LOCHINVAR is come out of the west; Through all the wide Border his steed was the best, And save his good broadsword he weapon had none, He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was knight like the young Lochinvar !

He staid not for brake, and he stopped not for stone, He swam the Esk river where ford there was noneBut ere he alighted at Netherby gate

The bride had consented, the gallant came late;

For a laggard in love, and a dastard1 in war,
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar !

So boldly he entered the Netherby hall,

Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all;

Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword— For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word— 'Oh come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar ?'

'I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied ;
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide !
And now I am come, with this lost love of mine,
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine!
There be maidens in Scotland, more lovely by far,
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar !'

The bride kissed the goblet, the knight took it up,
He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup!
She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh,
With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye.

He took her soft hand ere her mother could bar'Now tread me a measure!' said young Lochinvar.

So stately his form, and so lovely her face,

2

That never a hall such a galliard 2 did grace;

While her mother did fret, and her father did fume,

And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume;

1 Laggard and dastard, idler and coward.

2 Galliard, a gay young man.

And the bride-maidens whispered, "Twere better by far To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar.'

One touch of her hand, and one word in her ear,

When they reached the hall door, and the charger stood near,

1

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 Græmes of the Netherby clan; Fosters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they

ran;

There was racing and chasing on Canobie Lea,
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see.
So daring in love and so dauntless in war,

Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar ?

DAVID'S LAMENT FOR ABSALOM.

(N. P. WILLIS.)

N. P. Willis, a well-known American poet, was born at Portland, in the State of Maine, in 1817. He published a volume of poems in 1840. He was also a popular prose writer, and contributed to various American periodicals. Pencillings by the Way,' an account of his travels in Europe, is his best-known work. He died in 1867.

1

THE pall was settled. He who slept beneath

Was straightened for the grave; and, as the folds
Sank to the still proportions, they betrayed
The matchless symmetry 2 of Absalom.
His helm was at his feet: his banner, soiled
With trailing through Jerusalem, was laid,
Reversed, beside him : and the jewelled hilt,
Whose diamonds lit the passage of his blade,
Rested like mockery on his covered brow.
The soldiers of the king trod to and fro,
Clad in the garb of battle; and their chief,
The mighty Joab, stood beside the bier,
And gazed upon the dead pall steadfastly,
As if he feared the slumberer might stir.

A slow step startled him. He grasped his blade
As if a trumpet rang; but the bent form

Of David entered, and he gave command

In a low tone to his few followers,

And left him with his dead. The king stood still
Till the last echo died; then throwing off

1 Pall, the covering of a dead body.

2 Matchless symmetry, the unequalled beauty and regularity of his person. Absalom rebelled against his father and was slain by Joab. When David heard of his death he mourned sorely for him (2 Sam. xviii. 33).

The sackcloth from his brow, and laying back
The pall from the still features of his child,
He bowed his head upon him, and broke forth
In the resistless eloquence of woe:

· Alas,
my
noble boy! that thou shouldst die!
Thou who wert made so beautifully fair;
That Death should settle in thy glorious eye,
And leave his stillness in this clustering hair!
How could he mark thee for the silent tomb,
My proud boy, Absalom ?

'Cold is thy brow, my son! and I am chill,
As to my bosom I have tried to press thee!
How was I wont to feel my pulses thrill,

Like a rich harp-string, yearning to caress thee, And hear thy sweet" My Father!" from those dumb And cold lips, Absalom!

'The grave hath won thee! I shall hear the gush
Of music and the voices of the young;

And life will pass me in the mantling blush,
And the dark tresses to the soft winds flung;-
But thou no more with thy sweet voice shalt come
To meet me, Absalom !

'And oh! when I am stricken, and my heart, Like a bruised reed, is waiting to be broken, How will its love for thee, as I depart,

Yearn for thine ear to drink its last deep token!

1 Sackcloth, a coarse covering worn by the Jews during a period of mourning.