Her Monarch's risk in battle broil; And in gay Holy-Rood, the while, Dame Heron rises with a smile Upon the harp to play. Fair was her rounded arm, as o'er And as she touched and tuned them all, Ever her bosom's rise and fall Was plainer given to view; For all, for heat, was laid aside, And first she pitched her voice to sing, Then glanced her dark eye on the King, And then around the silent ring; And laughed, and blushed, and oft did say Her pretty oath, by Yea, and Nay, She could not, would not, durst not play! At length, upon the harp, with glee, Mingled with arch simplicity, A soft, yet lively, air she rung, While thus the wily lady sung. R XII. LOCHIN VAR. Lady Heron's Song. O, young Lochinvar is come out of the west, He staid not for brake, and he stopped 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 wooed your daughter, my suit you denied ;- The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up, So stately his form, and so lovely her face, While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume; And the bride-maidens whispered, ""Twere better by far To have matched our fair cousin with young Loch invar." One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, When they reached 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! 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 ? XIII. The Monarch o'er the syren hung, And beat the measure as she sung; And, pressing closer, and more near, A real or feigned disdain : Familiar was the look, and told, Marmion and she were friends of old. The King observed their meeting eyes, With something like displeased surprise; |