OH, young LоCHINVAR is come out of the west,
Thro' all the wide border his steed was the best;
And save his good broad-sword 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,

So boldly he enter'd the Netherby hall, Among bridesmen and kinsmen, and brothers, and all: Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword, (For the poor craven bridegroom spoke nevera word) "O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord LOCHINVAR ?"

"I long

"I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied ; Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide; And now I am 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 LocnINVar.

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, "'T were better by far

To have match'd our fair cousin with young LOCH

INVAR."

One

One touch to her hand, and one word in her car, When they reach'd the hall door, and the charger stood near;

So light to the croup 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 :

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
VAR? *

LOCHIN

WALTER SCOTT.

*This excellent specimen of the narrative ballad in its gay and sprightly form, is by the writer, in his fine poem of "Marmion," represented as sung by the fascinating Lady Ford before the king of Scotland.

DESPAIRING

DESPAIRING beside a clear stream,
A shepherd forsaken was laid,
And whilst a false nymph was his theme,
A willow supported his head ;

The wind that blew over the plain

To his sighs with a sigh did reply, And the brook in return to his pain Ran mournfully murmuring by.

"Alas! silly swain that I was!"

Thus sadly complaining he cried; "When first I beheld that fair face,

'T were better by far I had died. She talk'd, and I bless'd the dear tongue, When she smiled 'twas a pleasure too great;

I listen'd, and cried, when she sung,
Was nightingale ever so sweet?.

"How foolish was I to believe

She would dote on so lowly a clown, Or that her fond heart would not grieve To forsake the fine folks of the town!

Το

To think that a beauty so gay,

So kind and so constant would prove, To go clad like our maidens in gray, And live in a cottage on love!

"What tho' I have skill to complain,

Tho' the Muses my temples have crown'd? What tho', when they hear my soft strain, The virgins sit weeping around? Ah, COLIN, thy hopes are in vain, Thy pipe and thy laurel resign,

Thy fair one inclines to a swain

Whose music is sweeter than thine.

"And you, my companions so dear, Who sorrow to see me betray'd,

Whatever I suffer, forbear,

Forbear to accuse the false maid: Tho' thro' the wide world we should range, 'Tis in vain from our fortune to fly; 'T was hers to be false, and to change, 'Tis mine to be constant, and die.

"If while my hard fate I sustain,

In her breast any pity is found,
Let her come with the nymphs of the plain,

And see me laid low in the ground:

The