LOCHINVAR. LADY HERON'S SONG. O YOUNG Lochinvar is come out of the west, So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, He stayed not for brake, and he stopp'd not for stone, He swam the Eske river, where ford there was none; But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate, The bride had consented, the gallant came late : For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. So boldly he entered the Netherby hall, Among bride's-men, 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,) "O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar ?"— "I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied ; There are maidens in Scotland, more lovely by far, The bride kiss'd the goblet; the knight took it up, He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,- So stately his form, and so lovely his 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 reach'd 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 Græmes of the Netherby clan; Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar ? SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE, Born 1773, died 1834. THE KISS. ONE kiss, dear maid! I said, and sigh'd Your scorn the little boon denied ; Ah why refuse the blameless bliss ? Yon viewless wanderer of the vale, The spirit of the western gale, At morning's break, at evening's close, As passive to the breath of Love! Well pleased I hear the whispered "No!" The whispered "No!"-how little meant ! Sweet falsehood that endears consent! For on those lovely lips the while Dawns the soft relenting smile, And tempts, with feign'd dissuasion coy, The gentle violence of the joy. THE ROSE. As late each flower that sweetest blows I pluck'd, the garden's pride! Within the petals of a rose Around his brows a beamy wreath All purple glow'd his cheek, beneath, I softly seized the unguarded Power, And placed him, caged within the flower, But when, unweeting of the guile, Awoke the prisoner sweet, He struggled to escape awhile, And stamp'd his faery feet. M Ah! soon the soul-entrancing sight He gazed, he thrill'd with deep delight, . And, "O!" he cried, "of magic kind, What charms this throne endear! Some other Love let Venus find- LOVE. ALL thoughts, all passions, all delights, All are but ministers of Love, Oft in my waking dreams do I The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene, Had blended with the lights of eve; And she was there, my hope, my joy, My own dear Genevieve ! |