ENCHANTRESS, farewell! who so oft has decoy'd 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 speaking,
The language alternate of rapture and woe;

Oh! 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 sorrow, 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 waning, 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.

"Twas thou that once taught me, in accents bewailing,
To sing how a warrior lay stretch'd on the plain;
And a maiden hung o'er him with aid unavailing,
And held to his lips the cold goblet in vain :
As vain those enchantments, O queen of wild numbers,
To a bard when the reign of his fancy is o'er,
And the quick pulse of feeling in apathy slumbers,-
Farewell then, enchantress! I meet thee no more!

HUNTING SONG.

WAKEN, lords and ladies gay,
On the mountain dawns the day,
All the jolly chase is here,

With hawk, and horse, and hunting-spear:

Hounds are in their couples yelling,

Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling ;

Merrily, merrily, mingle they,

Waken, lords and ladies gay.'

Waken, lords and ladies gay,

66

The mist has left the mountain grey;
Springlets in the dawn are steaming,
Diamonds on the brake are gleaming:
And foresters have busy been,
To track the buck in thicket green;
Now we come to chaunt our lay,-
Waken, lords and ladies gay."

Waken, lords and ladies gay,
To the greenwood haste away;
We can show you where he lies,
Fleet of foot, and tall of size :
We can show the marks he made

When 'gainst the oak his antlers fray'd;

You shall see him brought to bay,

Waken, lords and ladies gay."

Louder, louder chaunt the lay,
Waken, lords and ladies gay;
Tell them youth, and mirth, and glee,
Run a course as well as we:

Time, stern huntsman! who can baulk,
Staunch as hound, and fleet as hawk;
Think of this, and rise with day,—
Gentle lords and ladies gay.

LOCHINVAR.

O, YOUNG Lochinvar has come out of the west, Through all the wide Border his steed was the best; And, save his good broadsword, he weapons had none, He rode all unarm'd, and he rode all alone.

So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,

There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.

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 Helen 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 ;
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide,
And now am I come, with this lost love of mine
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.
There are maidens in Scotland, more lovely by far,
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar."
The bride kiss'd the goblet; the knight took it up;
He quaff'd off the wine, and he threw down the cup.-
She look'd down to blush, and she look'd 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 we a measure!" said young Lochinvar.

So stately his form, and so lovely her face,
That never a hall such a galliard did grace;

While her mother did fret, and her father did fume,
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume,-
And the bride-maidens whisper'd, " "Twere better by far
To have match'd our fair cousin with young Lochinvar !"

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 bush, loch, 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 ?

LULLABY OF AN INFANT CHIEF.

O нUSH thee, my babie, thy sire was a knight,-
Thy mother a lady, both lovely and bright;

The woods and the glens, from the towers which we see,
They all are belonging, dear baby, to thee.

O ho ro, i ri ri, cadil gu lo,

O ho ro, i ri ri, cadil gu lo.

O fear not the bugle, though loudly it blows,
It calls but the warders that guard thy repose;
Their bows would be bended, their blades would be red,
Ere the step of a foeman draws near to thy bed.
O ho ro, i ri ri, etc.

O hush thee, my babie, the time soon will come,
When thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet and drum ;
Then hush thee, my darling, take rest while you may,
For strife comes with manhood, and waking with day.
O ho ro, i ri ri, etc.

HELLVELLYN.

I CLIMB'D the dark brow of the mighty Hellvellyn,

Lakes and mountains beneath me gleam'd misty and wide; All was still, save by fits when the eagle was yelling,

And starting around me the echoes replied.

On the right, Striden-edge round the Red-tarn was bending, And Catchedicam its left verge was defending,

One huge nameless rock in the front was ascending,

When I mark'd the sad spot where the wanderer had died.

Dark green was the spot mid the brown meadow heather,
Where the pilgrim of nature lay stretch'd in decay,-
Like the corpse of an outcast abandon'd to weather,
Till the mountain-winds wasted the tenantless clay.
Nor yet quite deserted, though lonely extended,
For, faithful in death, his mute favourite attended,
The much-loved remains of her master defended,
And chased the hill-fox and the raven away.

How long didst thou think that his silence was slumber?
When the wind waved his garment, how oft didst thou start?
How many long days and long weeks didst thou number,
Ere he faded before thee, the friend of thy heart?
And, oh! was it meet, that-no requiem read o'er him,
No mother to weep, and no friend to deplore him,
And thou, little guardian, alone stretch'd before him—
Unhonour'd the pilgrim from life should depart?

When a prince to the fate of the peasant has yielded,
The tapestry waves dark round the dim-lighted hall;
With scutcheons of silver the coffin is shielded,

And pages stand mute by the canopied pall :

Through the courts, at deep midnight, the torches are gleaming,
In the proudly-arched chapel the banners are beaming,
Far adown the long aisle sacred music is streaming,
Lamenting a chief of the people should fall.

But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature,

To lay down thy head like the meek mountain lamb ;
When, wilder'd, he drops from some cliff huge in stature,
And draws his last sob by the side of his dam.

And more stately thy couch by this desert lake lying,
Thy obsequies sung by the grey plover flying,
With one faithful friend but to witness thy dying,

In the arms of Hellvellyn and Catchedicam.