Approach, my Lucy ! fearless come,

Nor dread to hear of Arthur's shame.
My heart-'mid all yon courtly crew,
Of lordly rank and lofty line,

Is there to love and honour true,

That boasts a pulse so warm as mine?

They praised thy diamonds' lustre rare—

Match'd with thine eyes, I thought it faded; They praised the pearls that bound thy hairI only saw the locks they braided;

They talk'd of wealthy dower and land,
And titles of high birth the token-

I thought of Lucy's heart and hand,

Nor knew the sense of what was spoken. And yet, if rank'd in Fortune's roll,

I might have learn'd their choice unwise, Who rate the dower above the soul,

And Lucy's diamonds o'er her eyes.

VII.

My lyre-it is an idle toy,

That borrows accents not its own,

Like warbler of Columbian sky,

That sings but in a mimic tone.* Ne'er did it sound o'er sainted well, Nor boasts it aught of Border spell; Its strings no feudal slogan pour, Its heroes draw no broad claymore; No shouting clans applauses raise, Because it sung their fathers' praise; On Scottish moor, or English down, It ne'er was graced with fair renown; Nor won,-best meed to minstrel true,One favouring smile from fair BuCCLEUCH! By one poor streamlet sounds its tone, And heard by one dear Maid alone.

*The Mocking Bird.

VIII.

But, if thou bid'st, these tones shall tell,

Of errant knight and damozelle;

Of the dread knot a Wizard tied,

In punishment of maiden's pride,

In notes of marvel and of fear,

That best may charm romantic ear.

For Lucy loves,-like COLLINS, ill-starr'd name !

Whose lay's requital was, that tardy fame,
Who bound no laurel round his living head,

Should hang it o'er his monument when dead,—

For Lucy loves to tread enchanted strand,
And thread, like him, the maze of Fairy-land;

Of golden battlements to view the gleam,

And slumber soft by some Elysian stream:

Such lays she loves,—and, such my Lucy's choice,

What other song can claim her Poet's voice?

THE

BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN.

CANTO FIRST.