O' THE SOLDIER'S DREAM. UR bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lower'd, And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky; And thousands had sunk on the ground overpower'd, The weary to sleep and the wounded to die. When reposing that night on my pallet of straw, By the wolf-scaring faggot that guarded the slain, At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw, And thrice ere the morning I dream'd it again. Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array Far, far I had roam'd on a desolate track: 'Twas Autumn,-and sunshine arose on the way To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back. I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft In life's morning march, when my bosom was young; I heard my own mountain goats bleating aloft, And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung. Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore From my home and my weeping friends never to part; My little ones kiss'd me a thousand times o'er, And my wife sobb'd aloud in her fulness of heart. Stay, stay with us,-rest; thou art weary and worn! morn, TH A LYKE-WAKE DIRGE.1 [OLD.] HIS ae nighte, this ae nighte, Fire, and selte, and candle-lighte, When thou from hence away art past, To Whinny-muir thou comest at last, If ever thou gavest hosen and shoon, Sit thee down and put them on, If hosen and shoon thou gavest nane, Everie nighte and alle, The whinnes shall pricke thee to the bare bane, And Christe receive thy saule. From Whinny-muir when thou mayst passe, Everie nighte and alle, To Brigg o' Dread thou comest at last, And Christe receive thy saule. 1 See Note. * * * * From Brigg o' Dread when thou mayst passe, To Purgatory Fire thou comest at last, If ever thou gavest meate or drinke, I The fire shall never make thee shrinke, If meate or drinke thou gavest nane, The fire will burne thee to the bare bane, And Christe receive thy saule. This ae nighte, this ae nighte, Fire, and selte, and candle-lighte, WHERE HE WOULD HAVE HIS N sober mornings, do not thou rehearse The holy incantation of a verse ; But when that men have both well drunk and fed When the rose reigns, and locks with ointment YOUNG LOCHINVAR. [FROM "MARMION."] YOUNG Lochinvar is come out of the west! 'Through all the wide border his steed is the best; And save his good broadsword he weapon had none; He stay'd not for brake and he stopt 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; So bravely he enter'd the Netherby Hall, 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, 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 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; |