They took a drap o' boiling lead, They drapp'd it on her breast. "Alas! alas!" her father cried,

"She's dead without the priest."

She neither chattered with her teeth, Nor shivered with her chin. "Alas! alas!" her father cried, "There is nae breath within."

Then up arose her seven brethren,
And hew'd to her a bier;
They hew'd it frae the solid aik,
Laid it o'er wi' siller clear.

Then up and gat her seven sisters,
And sew'd to her a kell;
And every steek that they put in
Sew'd to a siller bell.

The first Scots kirk that they cam' to,
They gar'd the bells be rung.
The next Scots kirk that they cam' to,
They gar'd the mass be sung.

But when they cam' to Saint Mary's Kirk,
There stude spearmen all on a raw ;
And up and started Lord William,

The chieftain amang them a'.

"Set down, set down the bier," he said

"Let me look her upon :

;

But as soon as Lord William touched her hand, Her colour began to come.

She brightened like the lily flower,
Till her pale colour was gone;
With rosy cheik, and ruby lip,
She smiled her love upon.

"A morsel of your bread, my lord,
And one glass of your wine;

For I hae fasted these three lang days,
All for your sake and mine.

"Gae hame, gae hame, my seven bauld brothers,
Gae hame and blaw your horn!

I trow ye wad hae gi'en me the skaith,
But I've gi'en you the scorn.

"Commend me to my gray father,
That wish'd my saul gude rest;
But wae be to my cruel step-dame,
Gar'd burn me on the breast."

UNKNOWN.

XLIII

JUAN AND HAIDÉE

It was the cooling hour, just when the rounded
Red sun sinks down behind the azure hill,
Which then seems as if the whole earth it bounded,
Circling all nature, hush'd, and dim, and still,
With the far mountain-crescent half surrounded
On one side, and the deep sea calm and chill
Upon the other, and the rosy sky,

With one star sparkling through it like an eye.

And thus they wander'd forth, and hand in hand,
Over the shining pebbles and the shells,
Glided along the smooth and harden'd sand,
And in the worn and wild receptacles

Work'd by the storms, yet work'd as it were plann'd,
In hollow halls, with sparry roofs and cells,
They turn❜d to rest; and, each clasp'd by an arm,
Yielded to the deep twilight's purple charm.

They look'd up to the sky, whose floating glow
Spread like a rosy ocean, vast and bright;
They gazed upon the glittering sea below,

Whence the broad moon rose circling into sight;
They heard the wave's splash, and the wind so low,
And saw each other's dark eyes darting light
Into each other—and, beholding this,

Their lips drew near, and clung into a kiss ;

A long, long kiss, a kiss of youth, and love,
And beauty, all concentrating like rays
Into one focus, kindled from above;

Such kisses as belong to early days,

Where heart, and soul, and sense, in concert move,
And the blood's lava, and the pulse a blaze,
Each kiss a heart-quake,—for a kiss's strength,
I think, it must be reckon'd by its length.

By length I mean duration; theirs endured

Heaven knows how long-no doubt they never reckon'd;

And if they had, they could not have secured
The sum of their sensations to a second:
They had not spoken; but they felt allured,

As if their souls and lips each other beckon'd, Which, being join'd, like swarming bees they clungTheir hearts the flowers from which the honey sprung.

They were alone, but not alone as they
Who shut in chambers think it loneliness;
The silent ocean, and the starlight bay,

The twilight glow, which momently grew less,
The voiceless sands, and dropping caves, that lay
Around them, made them to each other press,
As if there were no life beneath the sky
Save theirs, and that their life could never die.

They fear'd no eyes nor ears on that lone beach,
They felt no terrors from the night, they were
All in all to each other: though their speech

Was broken words, they thought a language there,—
And all the burning tongues the passions teach
Found in one sigh the best interpreter

Of nature's oracle-first love,-that all
Which Eve has left her daughters since her fall.

Haidée spoke not of scruples, ask'd no vows,
Nor offer'd any; she had never heard
Of plight and promises to be a spouse,
Or perils by a loving maid incurr'd;
She was all which pure ignorance allows,

And flew to her young mate like a young bird;
And, never having dreamt of falsehood, she
Had not one word to say of constancy.

She loved, and was beloved--she adored,

And she was worshipp'd; after nature's fashion, Their intense souls, into each other pour'd,

If souls could die, had perish'd in that passion,— But by degrees their senses were restored,

Again to be o'ercome, again to dash on ; And, beating 'gainst his bosom, Haidée's heart Felt as if never more to beat apart.

GEORGE, LORD BYRON.

XLIV

LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI

I

O WHAT can ail thee, knight-at-arms, Alone and palely loitering?

The sedge has withered from the lake, And no birds sing.

II

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, So haggard and so woe-begone? The squirrel's granary is full,

And the harvest's done.

III

I see a lily on thy brow

With anguish moist and fever dew, And on thy cheeks a fading rose

Fast withereth too.

IV

I met a lady in the meads,

Full beautiful-a faery's child, Her hair was long, her foot was light, And her eyes were wild.