And when that heart grew colder, colder still,
I, ignorant, tried all duties to fulfill,
Blaming my foolish, pain, exacting will,

All-anything but him. It was to be;
The full draught others drink up carelessly
Was made this bitter Tantalus-cup for me.

I say again he gives me all I claimed,
I and my children never shall be shamed;
He is a just man-he will live unblamed.

Only O God, O God, to cry for bread,
And get a stone! Daily to lay my head
Upon a bosom where the old love's dead!

Dead! Fool, it never lived! It only stirred Galvanic, like an hour-cold corpse. None heard; So let me bury it without a word.

He'll keep that other woman from my sight.
I know not if her face be foul or bright:
I only know that it was his delight-

As his was mine. I only know he stands
Pale, at the touch of their long-severed hands;
Then to a flickering smile his lips commands,

Lest I should grieve, or jealous anger show.
He need not. When the ship's gone down, I trow,
We little reck whatever wind may blow.

LOCHINVAR.

And so my silent moan begins and ends.

45

No world's laugh or world's taunt, no pity of

friends,

Or sneers of foes, with this my torment blends.

None knows, none heeds. I have a little pride; Enough to stand up, wife-like, by his side, With the same smile as when I was a bride.

And I shall take his children to my arms;

They will not miss these fading, worthless charms;

Their kiss-ah! unlike his-all pain disarms.

And haply, as the solemn years go by,

He will think sometimes, with regretful sigh,
The other woman was less true than I.

MISS MULOCK.

She loves with love that cannot tire;
And if-ah, woe!-she loves alone,
Through passionate duty love flames higher,
As grass grows taller round a stone.

LOCHINVAR.

O young Lochinvar is come out of the west, Through all the wide Border his steed was the

best;

And save his good broadsword, he weapons had

none,

He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone.
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.

He stayed not for brake and he stopped not for

stone,

But 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 entered 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 said never a word,)

"O, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?"

"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.

LOCHINVAR.

47

There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar."

The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up,

He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the

cup.

She looked down to blush, and she looked 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 Lochin

var.

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 whispered, "Twere better, by far,

To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar."

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 Lochinvar.

There was mounting 'mong Graemes 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 Lochin-
var?

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

LINES TO AN INDIAN AIR.

I arise from dreams of thee

In the first sweet sleep of night,
When the winds are breathing low
And the stars are shining bright;
I arise from dreams of thee,

And a spirit in my feet

Has led me-who knows how?

To thy chamber-window, sweet!