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One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, When they reached 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, bush, and
scaur ; “ They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young
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 Lochinvar ?
SIR WALTER SCOTT
The Convict Ship.
Morn on the waters !-and, purple and bright,
O'er the glad waves, like a child of the sun,
Night on the waves !-and the moon is on high,
That so lovely a thing is the mansion of sin,
'Tis thus with our life, while it passes along,
To the Rainbow.
TRIUMPHAL arch, that fill'st the sky
When storms prepare to part,
I ask not proud philosophy
To teach me what thou art :
Still seem as to my childhood's sight,
A midway station given For happy spirits to alight
Betwixt the earth and beaven.
Can all that optics teach unfold
A form to please me so, As when I dream'd of
and gold Hid in thy radiant bow ?
When Science from Creation's face
Enchantment's veil withdraws, What lovely visions yield their place
To cold material laws !
And yet, fair bow, no fabled dreams,
But words of the Most High,
Was woven in the sky.
When o'er the green undeluged earth
Heaven's covenant thou didst shine, How came the world's grey father's forth
To watch thy sacred sign.
And when its yellow lustre smiled
O'er mountains yet untrod, Each mother held aloft her child
To bless the bow of God.
Methinks, thy jubilee to keep,
The first-made anthem rang
And the first poet sang.
Nor ever shall the Muse's eye
Unraptured greet thy beam; Theme of primeval prophecy,
Be still the poet's theme!
The earth to thee her incense yields,
The lark thy welcome sings, When, glittering in the freshen'd fields,
The snowy mushroom springs.
How glorious is thy girdle cast
O’er mountain, tower, and town, Or mirror'd in the ocean vast,
A thousand fathoms down !
As fresh in yon horizon dark,
As young thy beauties seem, As when the eagle from the ark
First sported in thy beam.