But matron and maiden Shall long look, in sorrow, To dread Hecla, and sing thus THE LASS OF DELORAINE. JAMES HOGG. Still must my pipe lie idly by, And worldly cares my mind annoy? Again its softest notes I'll try, So dear a theme can never cloy. Last time my mountain harp I strung, 'Twas she inspired the simple strain— That lovely flower so sweet and The bonnie lass of Deloraine. young, How blest the breeze's balmy sighs The flower that in her bosom dies, Or grass that bends beneath her toe! Her cheeks endowed with powers at will, The roses' richest shade to drain ; Her eyes what soft enchantments fill, The bonnie lass of Deloraine. Let Athole boast her birchen bowers, If heaven shall keep her ay as good May health still bless her beauteous face, And round her brow may honour twine, And heaven preserve that breast in peace, Where meekness, love, and duty join! But all her joys shall cheer my heart, And all her griefs shall give me pain; For never from my soul shall part The bonnie lass of Deloraine. BRIGNAL BANKS. SIR WALTER SCOTT. O Brignal banks are wild and fair, A maiden on the castle wall Was singing merrily,— O Brignal banks are fresh and fair, If, maiden, thou wouldst wend with me, Thou first must guess what life lead we, As read full well you may, Then to the greenwood shalt thou speed As blithe as queen of May. Yet sung she, Brignal banks are fair, And Greta woods are green: Than reign our English queen. I read you, by your bugle horn, To keep the king's green wood. I would I were with Edmund there, With burnish'd brand and musquetoon, I read you for a bold dragoon, I list no more the tuck of drum, Yet mickle must the maiden dare, Maiden! a nameless life I lead, A nameless death I'll die; The fiend, whose lantern lights the mead, Were better mate than I! And when I'm with my comrades met, Nor think what we are now. Yet Brignal banks are fresh and fair, ` And you may gather garlands there, "Twas when the wan leaf frae the birk tree was fa'in, And Martinmas dowie had wound up the year, That Lucy row'd up her wee kist wi' her a' in, And left her auld master, and neibours sae dear. For Lucy had serv'd i' the glen a' the simmer; She cam there afore the flow'r bloom'd on the pea; An orphan was she, an' they had been gude till her, Sure that was the thing brought the tear in her ee. ye She gaed by the stable, whare Jamie was stannin', She heard the craw sayin't, high on the tree sittin', And robin was chirpin't the brown leaves amang. |