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"My father, my father, and seest thou not
“ I love thee; thy beauty has ravished my sense ; And, willing or not, I will carry thee hence." “O father, the Erl King now puts forth his arm! O father, the Erl King has done me harm !”
The father shudders; he hurries on ;
LAMENT OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS. - Burns.
Now nature hangs her mantle green
On every blooming tree,
Out o'er the grassy lea ;
And glads the azure skies ;
That fast in durance lies.
Now lav’rocks wake the merry morn,
Aloft on dewy wing ;
Makes woodland-echoes ring;
* Gleams with an uncertain light.
LAMENT OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS.
The mavis wild, wi' many a note,
Sings drowsy day to rest;
Wi' care nor thrall opprest.
Now blooms the lily by the bank,
The primrose down the brae;
And milk-white is the slae ;
May rove their sweets among;
Maun lie in prison strong.
I was the queen o' bonnie France,
Where happy I hae been ;
As blithe lay down at e’en;
And mony a traitor there ;
And never-ending care.
But as for thee, thou false woman,
That through thy soul shall go ;
Was never known to thee;
Frae woman's pitying e'e.
* Elizabeth, queen of England, who unjustly detained her in prison.
My son! my son! may kinder stars
Upon thy fortune shine;
That ne'er wad blink on mine!
Or turn their hearts to thee ;
Remember him for me!
O, soon, to me, may summer suns
Nae mair light up the morn!
Wave o'er the yellow corn!
Let winter round me rave;
Bloom on my peaceful grave.
AVARICE.- George Herbert.
Money, thou bane of bliss, and source of woe,
Surely thou didst so little contribute
* James the First, king of England.
Then forcing thee, by fire he made thee bright;
Man calleth thee his wealth, who made thee rich,
THE TRUMPET. - Mrs. Hemans.
The trumpet's voice hath roused the lan
Light up the beacon-pyre! -
And waved the sign of fire.
folds have cast,
A king to war went past.
The chief is arming in his hall,
The peasant by his hearth ;
And rises from the earth.
Looks with a boding eye,
Whose young hearts leap so high.
The bard hath ceased his song, and boun
The falchion to his side ;
The lover quits his bride.
And all this haste, and change, and fear
By earthly clarion spread !
The blast that wakes the dead!
FAREWELL TO THE MUSE. — Sir W. Scott.
ENCHANTRESS, farewell! who so oft has decoyed me, At the close of the evening, through woodlands to
roam, Where the forester, lated, with wonder espied me
Explore the wild scenes he was quitting for home. Farewell! and take with thee thy numbers wild speak
ing, The language alternate of rapture and woe; O, none but some lover, whose heart-strings are
breaking, The pang that I feel at our parting can know ! Each joy thou couldst double, and when there came
Or pale disappointment to darken my way, What voice was like thine, that could sing of to-morrow,
Till forgot in the strain was the grief of to-day! But when friends drop around us in life's weary wan
ing, The grief, queen of numbers, thou canst not assuage; Nor the gradual estrangement of those yet remaining,
The languor of pain, and the chillness of age. 'T was thou that once taught me, in accents bewailing,
To sing how a warrior lay stretched on the plain, And a maiden hung o'er him with aid unavailing,
And held to his lips the cold goblet in vain ;