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"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;
Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran:
There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee,
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?
Walter Scott [1771-1832)

JOCK OF HAZELDEAN

"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.

"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 aye she loot the tears down fa'
For Jock of Hazeldean.

"A chain of gold ye sall not lack,
Nor braid to bind your hair,
Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk,
Nor palfrey fresh and fair;
And you the foremost o' them a'

Shall ride our forest-queen"

But aye she loot the tears down fa'
For Jock of Hazel.

Candor

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.

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Walter Scott [1771-1832]

CANDOR

OCTOBER-A WOOD

"I KNOW what you're going to say," she said,
And she stood up, looking uncommonly tall:
"You are going to speak of the hectic fall,
And say you're sorry the summer's dead,
And no other summer was like it, you know,
And can I imagine what made it so.
Now aren't you, honestly?" "Yes," I said.

"I know what you're going to say," she said:
"You are going to ask if I forget

That day in June when the woods were wet,
And you carried me"-here she drooped her head-
"Over the creek; you are going to say,
Do I remember that horrid day.
Now aren't you, honestly?" "Yes," I said.

"I know what you're going to say," she said:
"You are going to say that since that time
You have rather tended to run to rhyme,
And❞—her clear glance fell, and her cheek grew red—
"And have I noticed your tone was queer.
Why, everybody has seen it here!
Now aren't you, honestly?" "Yes," I said.

"I know what you're going to say," I said:
"You're going to say you've been much annoyed;
And I'm short of tact-you will say, devoid-

And I'm clumsy and awkward; and call me Ted;
And I bear abuse like a dear old lamb;

And you'll have me, anyway, just as I am.
Now aren't you, honestly?" "Ye-es," she said.
Henry Cuyler Bunner [1855-1896]

"DO YOU REMEMBER"

Do you remember when you heard

My lips breathe love's first faltering word?
You do, sweet-don't you?

When, having wandered all the day,
Linked arm in arm, I dared to say,

"You'll love me-won't you?"

And when you blushed and could not speak,
I fondly kissed your glowing check,

Did that affront you?

Oh, surely not-your eye expressed
No wrath-but said, perhaps in jest,
"You'll love me-won't you?"

I'm sure my eyes replied, "I will."
And you believe that promise still,
You do, sweet don't you?

Yes, yes! when age has made our eyes

Unfit for questions or replies,

You'll love me-won't you?

Thomas Haynes Bayly [1797-1839]

BECAUSE

SWEET Nea! for your lovely sake
I weave these rambling numbers,
Because I've lain an hour awake,

And can't compose my slumbers;
Because your beauty's gentle light
Is round my pillow beaming,
And flings, I know not why, to-night,

Some witchery o'er my dreaming!

Because

Because we've passed some joyous days,
And danced some merry dances;
Because we love old Beaumont's plays,

And old Froissart's romances!
Because whene'er I hear your words
Some pleasant feeling lingers;
Because I think your heart has cords
That vibrate to your fingers.

Because you've got those long, soft curls,
I've sworn should deck my goddess;
Because you're not, like other girls,
All bustle, blush, and bodice!
Because your eyes are deep and blue,
Your fingers long and rosy;
Because a little child and you
Would make one's home so cosy!

Because your little tiny nose
Turns up so pert and funny;
Because I know you choose your beaux
More for their mirth than money;
Because I think you'd rather twirl
A waltz, with me to guide you,
Than talk small nonsense with an earl,
And a coronet beside you!

Because you don't object to walk,
And are not given to fainting;
Because you have not learned to talk
Of flowers, and Poonah-painting;
Because I think you'd scarce refuse
To sew one on a button;

Because I know you sometimes choose
To dine on simple mutton!

Because I think I'm just so weak
As, some of those fine morrows,
To ask you if you'll let me speak
My story--and my sorrows;

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Because the rest's a simple thing,

A matter quickly over

A church-a priest-a sigh-a ring

And a chaise-and-four to Dover.

Edward Fitzgerald [1809-1883]

LOVE AND AGE

From "Gryll Grange"

I PLAYED with you 'mid cowslips blowing,
When I was six and you were four;
When garlands weaving, flower-balls throwing,
Were pleasures soon to please no more.
Through groves and meads, o'er grass and heather,
With little playmates, to and fro,

We wandered hand in hand together;

But that was sixty years ago.

You grew a lovely roseate maiden,
And still our early love was strong;
Still with no care our days were laden,
They glided joyously along;
And I did love you very dearly-

How dearly, words want power to show;
I thought your heart was touched as nearly;
But that was fifty years ago.

Then other lovers came around you,
Your beauty grew from year to year,
And many a splendid circle found you
The center of its glittering sphere.
I saw you then, first vows forsaking,

On rank and wealth your hand bestow;
O, then, I thought my heart was breaking,-
But that was forty years ago.

And I lived on, to wed another:
No cause she gave me to repine;
And when I heard you were a mother,
I did not wish the children mine.

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