EDWIN AND EMMA.

Oft, too, on Stanmore's wintry waste,
Beneath the moonlight shade,

In sighs to pour his soften'd soul,
The midnight mourner stray'd.

His cheek, where health with beauty glow'd,
A deadly pale o'ercast :

So fades the fresh rose in its prime,

Before the northern blast.

Hung o'er his dying bed;

And wearied Heaven with fruitless vows,

And fruitless sorrows shed.

""Tis past!" he cried; "but, if your souls
Sweet mercy yet can move,

Let these dim eyes once more behold
What they must ever love!"

She came, his cold hand softly touch'd,
And bath'd with many a tear:
Fast falling o'er the primrose pale,

So morning dews appear.

But oh! his sister's jealous care

(A cruel sister she!)

Forbade what Emma came to say,

"My Edwin, live for me!"

Now homeward as she hopeless wept

The church-yard path along,

The blast blew cold, the dark owl scream'd
Her lover's funeral song.

EDWIN AND EMMA.

Amid the falling gloom of night,
Her startling fancy found
In every bush his hov'ring shade,
His groan in every sound.

Alone, appall'd, thus had she pass'd

The visionary vale

When lo! the death-bell smote her ear,

Sad sounding in the gale!

Just then she reach'd, with trembling step,

Her aged mother's door:

"He's gone!" she cried, " and I shall see That angel-face no more!

“I feel, I feel, this breaking heart

Beat high against my side!"

From her white arm down sunk her head,

She shiver'd, sigh'd, and died.

LOCHINVAR.

O! YOUNG LOCHINVAR is 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 staid 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 Ellen of brave Lochinvar.

LOCHINVAR.

So boldly he enter'd the Netherby Hall,

Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all: Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword, poor craven bridegroom said never a word,)

(For the

“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 bank, Lush, and scaur;

They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar.