The miller he's a worldly man, And maun have double fee; So draw the sluice of the churl's dam, The top of the grain on hill and plain One elf goes chasing the wild bat's wing, One hunts the fox for the white o' his tail, O haste, my brown elf, bring me corn From bonnie Blackwood plains; Go, gentle fairy, bring me grain Fair is the corn and fatter; Hilloah! my hopper is heaped high; Haste, elves, and turn yon mountain burn Bring streams that shine like siller; The dam is down, the moon sinks soon, And I maun grind my meller. Ha! bravely done, my wanton elves, See how the dust from the mill-ee flies, And meet me soon, ere sinks the moon MARMION. SIR WALTER SCOTT. Where shall the lover rest, Whom the fates sever, From his true maiden's breast Parted for ever? Where, through groves deep and high, Sounds the far billow, Where early violets die, Under the willow. There, through the summer day, Cool streams are laving, There, while the tempests sway, Scarce are boughs waving; There thy rest shalt thou take, Parted for ever, Never again to wake, Never, O never. Where shall the traitor rest, He the deceiver, Who could win maiden's breast, Ruin, and leave her ? In the lost battle, Borne down by the flying, Where mingles war's rattle With groans of the dying. Her wing shall the eagle flap His warm blood the wolf shall lap, Ere life be parted; Shame and dishonour sit By his grave ever; Blessing shall hallow it Never, O never. SONG OF RICHARD FAULDER. ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. It's merry, it's merry, among the moonlight, To spread the white sails of my vessel, and go And it's blithesomer still, when the storm is come on, And the Solway's wild waves are ascending In huge and dark curls—and the shaven masts groan, And the canvas to ribbons is rending; When the dark heaven stoops down unto the dark deep, And the thunder speaks 'mid the commotion :— Awaken and see, ye who slumber and sleep, The might of the Lord on the ocean! This frail bark, so late growing green in the wood Is as safe to thy feet as the proud palace floor, YOUNG LOCHINVAR. SIR WALTER SCOTT. O, young Lochinvar has come out of the west, He staid not for brake, and he stopp'd not for stone, The bride had consented, the gallant came late : So boldly he enter'd the Netherby Hall, Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers and all; |