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'Tis past, that melancholy dream !

Nor will I quit thy shore
A second time, for still I seem

To love thee more and more.
Among thy mountains did I feel

The joy of my desire ;
And she I cherish'd turn'd her wheel

Beside an English fire.
Thy mornings show'd, thy nights conceal'd

The bowers where Lucy play'd ; And thine too is the last green field That Lucy's eyes survey'd.

W. Wordsworth

CLXXIX THE EDUCATION OF NATURE Three years she grew in sun and shower; Then Nature said, 'A lovelier flower On earth was never sown : This child I to myself will take; She shall be mine, and I will make A lady of my own. · Myself will to my darling be Both law and impulse: and with me The girl, in rock and plain In earth and heaven, in glade and bower Shall feel an overseeing power To kindle or restrain.

She shall be sportive as the fawn That wild with glee across the lawn Or up the mountain springs; And her's shall be the breathing balm, And her's the silence and the calm Of mute insensate things. "The floating clouds their state shall lend To her; for her the willow bend;

N

Nor shall she fail to see
E'en in the motions of the storm
Grace that shall mould the maiden's form
By silent sympathy.
· The stars of midnight shall be dear
To her; and she shall lean her ear
In many a secret place
Where rivulets dance their wayward round,
And beauty born of murmuring sound
Shall pass into her face.

And vital feelings of delight
Shall rear her form to stately height,
Her virgin bosom swell ;
Such thoughts to Lucy I will give
While she and I together live
Here in this happy dell.'
Thus Nature spake—The work was done-
How soon my Lucy's race was run !
She died, and left to me
This heath, this calm and quiet scene;
The memory of what has been,
And never more will be.

W. Wordsworth

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A slumber did my spirit seal ;

I had no human fears :
She seem'd a thing that could not feel

The touch of earthly years.
No motion has she now, no force ;

She neither hears nor sees;
Roll'd round in earth's diurnal course
With rocks, and stones, and trees !

W. Wordsworth

CLXXXI LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER A Chieftain to the Highlands bound Cries · Boatman, do not tarry ! And I'll give thee a silver pound To row us o'er the ferry ! • Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle This dark and stormy water ?'. • O I'm the chief of Ulva's isle, And this, Lord Ullin's daughter.

And fast before her father's men Three days we've fled together, For should he find us in the glen, My blood would stain the heather. · His horsemen hard behind us ride Should they our steps discover, Then who will cheer my bonny bride When they have slain her lover?' Out spoke the hardy Highland wight “I'll go, my chief, I'm ready : It is not for your silver bright, But for your winsome lady :* And by my word ! the bonny bird In danger shall not tarry; So though the waves are raging white I'll row you o'er the ferry.' By this the storm grew loud apace, The water-wraith was shrieking; And in the scowl of heaven each face Grew dark as they were speaking. But still as wilder blew the wind And as the night grew drearer, Adown the glen rode arméd men, Their trampling sounded nearer.

• haste thee, haste !' the lady cries,
“Though tempests round us gather ;
I'll meet the raging of the skies,
But not an angry father.'
The boat has left a stormy land,
A stormy sea before her,-
When, Ó! too strong for human hand
The tempest gather'd o'er her.
And still they row'd amidst the roar
Of waters fast prevailing :
Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore,
His wrath was changed to wailing.
For, sore dismay'd, through storm and shade
His child he did discover :-
One lovely hand she stretch'd for aid,
And one was round her lover.

Come back! come back !' he cried in grief
• Across this stormy water :
And I'll forgive your Highland chief,
My daughter !-O my daughter !
'Twas vain : the loud waves lash'd the shore,
Return or aid preventing :
The waters wild went o'er his child,
And he was left lamenting.

T. Campbell

CLXXXII
FOCK O' HAZELDEAN
Why weep ye by the tide, ladie ?

Why weep ye by the tide ?
I'll wed ye to my youngest son,

And ye sall be his bride :
And ye sall be his bride, ladie,

Sae comely to be seen '--
But aye she loot the tears down fa'

For Jock of Hazeldean.

Now let this wilfu' grief be done,

And dry that cheek so pale ; Young Frank is chief of Errington

And lord of Langley-dale ;
His step is first in peaceful ha',

His sword in battle keen '-
But aye she loot the tears down fa’

For Jock of Hazeldean.
A chain of gold ye sall not lack,

Nor braid to bind your hair,
Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk,

Nor palfrey fresh and fair ;
And you the foremost o’them a'

Shall ride our forest-queen'-
But aye she loot the tears down fa'

For Jock of Hazeldean.
The kirk was deck'd at morning-tide,

The tapers glimmer'd fair ;
The priest and bridegroom wait the bride,

And dame and knight are there :
They sought her baith by bower and ha';

The ladie was not seen!
She's o'er the Border, and awa'
Wi' Jock of Hazeldean.

Sir W. Scott

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How delicious is the winning
Of a kiss at love's beginning,
When two mutual hearts are sighing
For the knot there's no untying !
Yet remember, 'midst your wooing,
Love has bliss, but Love has ruing ;
Other smiles may make you fickle,
Tears for other charms may trickle.

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