This night will many drink thy health,

An ken na wha to name.

Play me up

"Sweet Marie," I cry'd,

An' loud the piper blew,—

But the fiddler play'd ay struntum strum,

An' down his bow he threw :

Here's thy kind health i' the ruddie red wine, Fair dame o' the stranger land!

For never a pair o' een before

Could mar my gude bow-hand.

Her lips were a cloven honey-cherrie,
Sae tempting to the sight;
Her locks owre alabaster brows
Fell like the morning light.

An' O! her honey breath lift her locks,
As through the dance she flew,

While love laugh'd in her bonny blue ee,
An' dwelt on her comely mou'.

Loose hings yere broider'd gold garter,
Fair ladie, dare I speak?
She, trembling, lift her silky hand

To her red, red flushing cheek.

Ye've drapp'd, ye've drapped yere broach o' gold,
Thou lord's daughter sae gay!

The tears o'erbrimm'd her bonnie blue ee,-
O come, O come away!

O maid, unbar the silver bolt,

Το

my chamber let me win; An' take this kiss, thou peasant youth, I daur na let ye in;

An' take, quo' she, this kame o' gold,
Wi' my lock o' yellow hair,
For meikle my heart forebodes to me
I never maun meet ye mair!

SONG OF SNORRO.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

Come, haste from the mountain;
Come, leap like the roe ;

Like the sea-eagle, come;

Or the shaft from the bow:

And the gleaming harpoon;
Leave the love-tale half told,

And the sweet harp in tune;
Leave the broad banner flying
Upon the rough flood;

Leave the ships' decks unswept

From the Orkney-men's blood.

And why should we leave thus
The whale when he's dying,
Our ships' decks unswept,

And our broad banners flying?
And why leave our loves

With their white bosoms swelling, When their breath lifts their locks While the soft tale we're telling?

The cloud when it snows,

And the storm in its glory,

Shall cease ere we stay,

Ancient bard, for thy story.

Bow all your heads, dames,

Let

your bright eyes drop sorrow;

Hoar heads, stoop in dust,

Said the sweet voice of Snorro.

Fear not for the Norsemen,

The brand and the spear;

The sharp shaft and war-axe

Have sober'd their cheer:

But dread that mute sea,

With its mild waters leaping;

Dread Hecla's green hill

In the setting sun sleeping.

It was seen in no vision,
Reveal'd in no dream,
For I heard a voice crying
From Tingalla's stream-

Green Hecla shall pour

Its red fires through Oddo, And its columns of flame

Through the Temple of Lodo. Where the high land shall sink,. Lo, the deep sea shall follow, And the whale shall spout blood Between Scalholt and Hola.

The bard, wept-in his palms
His sad face he conceal'd;
And a wild wind awaken'd,
The huge mountain reel'd;
Beneath came a shudder,
Above a loud rattle,

Earth moved to and fro

Like a banner in battle;

The great deep raised its voice,

And its dark flood, flow'd higher,

And far flash'd, ashore

The foam mingled with fire.

O spare merry Oddo,

And pleasant old Hola!

The bard said no more,

For the deep sea came dashing;

The green hill was cleft,

And its fires came flashing.

But matron and maiden

Shall long look, in sorrow,

To dread Hecla, and sing thus
The sad song of Snorro.

THE LASS OF DELORAINE.

JAMES HOGG.

Still must my pipe lie idly by,

And worldly cares my mind annoy? Again its softest notes I'll try,

So dear a theme can never cloy. Last time my mountain harp I strung, "Twas she inspired the simple strainThat lovely flower so sweet and young, The bonnie lass of Deloraine.

How blest the breeze's balmy sighs
Around her ruddy lips that blow,

Or

The flower that in her bosom dies, that bends beneath her toe! Her cheeks endowed with powers at will,

grass

The roses' richest shade to drain;

Her eyes what soft enchantments fill,

The bonnie lass of Deloraine.