Epitaph on Mrs. Erskine.' 1819. PLAIN, as her native dignity of mind, From the Monastery. 3. Merrily swim we, the moon shines bright, Downward we drift through shadow and light. Under yon rock the eddies sleep, Calm and silent, dark and deep. The Kelpy has risen from the fathomless pool, He has lighted his candle of death and of dool: Look, Father, look, and you'll laugh to see How he gapes and glares with his eyes on thee 4. Good luck to your fishing, whom watch ye to night? A man of mean or a man of might? Is it layman or priest that must float in your cove, All that come to my cove are sunk, Landed-landed! the black book hath won, 1820. (1.)-SONGS OF THE WHITE LADY OF AVENEL, ON TWEED RIVER. 1. MERRILY Swim we, the moon shines bright, As we plash'd along beneath the oak That flings its broad branches so far and so wide, Their shadows are dancing in midst of the tide. "Who wakens my nestlings?" the raven he said, "My beak shall ere morn in his blood be red! For a blue swollen corpse is a dainty meal, And I'll have my share with the pike and the eel.” 2. Merrily swim we, the moon shines bright, 1 Mrs. Euphemia Robinson, wife of William Erskine, Esq. (afterwards Lord Kinedder), died September, 1819, and was TO THE SUB-PRIOR. Good evening, Sir Priest, and so late as you ride, With your mule so fair, and your mantle so wide But ride you through valley, or ride you o'er hill, There is one that has warrant to wait on you still. Back, back, The volume black! I have a warrant to carry it back. What, ho! Sub-Prior, and came you but here Back, back, There's death in the track! In the name of my master, I bid thee bear back. "In the name of My Master," said the astonished Monk, "that name before which all things created tremble, I conjure thee to say what thou art that hauntest me thus ?" The same voice replied, That which is neither ill nor well, That which belongs not to heaven nor to hell, buried at Saline, in the county of Fife, where these lines are inscribed on the tombstone. A wreath of the mist, a bubble of the stream, In the beams of the setting sun, am I. Vainly, Sir Prior, wouldst thou bar me my right! Like the star when it shoots, I can dart through the night; I can dance on the torrent, and ride on the air, And travel the world with the bonny night-mare. Again, again, At the crook of the glen, Where bickers the burnie, I'll meet thee again. Men of good are bold as sackless,' Men of rude are wild and reckless. Lie thou still In the nook of the hill, For those be before thee that wish thee ill. Chap. ix. HALBERT'S INCANTATION. THRICE to the holly brake Thrice to the well: I bid thee awake, White Maid of Avenel! Noon gleams on the LakeNoon glows on the Fell-Wake thee, O wake, White Maid of Avenel. TO HALBERT. YOUTH of the dark eye, wherefore didst thou call me? Wherefore art thou here, if terrors can appal thee? He that seeks to deal with us must know nor fear, nor failing; To coward and churl our speech is dark, our gifts are unavailing. The breeze that brought me hither now must sweep Egyptian ground, The fleecy cloud on which I ride for Araby is bound; The fleecy cloud is drifting by, the breeze sighs for my stay, For I must sail a thousand miles before the close of day. What I am I must not show What I am thou couldst not know 1 Sackless-Innocent. Something betwixt heaven and hell- Every change of human passion, Ours the sleep that knows no morrow. This is all that thou may'st know. Ay! and I taught thee the word and the spell To waken me here by the Fairies' Well More than to seek my haunted walk; And thou hast loved the lance and the sword, And thou hast loved the deer to track, Thy craven fear my truth accused, Can bring thee back the chance that's flown Within that awful volume lies Many a fathom dark and deep The sacred pledge of Heav'n |