But when the beetle sounds his hum
My comrades take the spear.
And O! though Brignall banks be fair
And Greta woods be gay,

Yet mickle must the maiden dare
Would reign my Queen of May!

'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
Beneath the greenwood bough,-
What once we were we all forget,
Nor think what we are now.'

Chorus

'Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair,
And Greta woods are green,

And you may gather garlands there
Would grace a summer-queen.'

428

TO A LOCK OF HAIR

THY hue, dear pledge, is pure and bright
As in that well-remember'd night
When first thy mystic braid was wove,
And first my Agnes whisper'd love.

Since then how often hast thou prest
The torrid zone of this wild breast,
Whose wrath and hate have sworn to dwell
With the first sin that peopled hell;

A breast whose blood's a troubled ocean,
Each throb the earthquake's wild commotion!
O if such clime thou canst endure

Yet keep thy hue unstain'd and pure,

What conquest o'er each erring thought

Of that fierce realm had Agnes wrought!
I had not wander'd far and wide

With such an angel for my guide;

Nor heaven nor earth could then reprove me

If she had lived and lived to love me.

Not then this world's wild joys had been
To me one savage hunting scene,
My sole delight the headlong race
And frantic hurry of the chase;
To start, pursue, and bring to bay,
Rush in, drag down, and rend my prey,
Then-from the carcass turn away!
Mine ireful mood had sweetness tamed,

And soothed each wound which pride inflamed:-
Yes, God and man might now approve me
If thou hadst lived and lived to love me!

429

JOCK OF HAZELDEAN

'WHY Weep ye by the tide, ladie?
Why weep ye by the tide?
I'll wed ye to my youngest son,
And ye sall be his bride:
And ye sall be his bride, ladie,
Sae comely to be seen '—

But aye she loot the tears down fa'
For Jock of Hazeldean.

'Now let this wilfu' grief be done,
And dry that cheek so pale;
Young Frank is chief of Errington
And lord of Langley-dale;

His step is first in peaceful ha',
His sword in battle keen '-
But aye she loot the tears down fa'
For Jock of Hazeldean.

'A chain of gold ye sall not lack,
Nor braid to bind your hair,

Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk,
Nor palfrey fresh and fair;
And you the foremost o' them a'
Shall ride our forest-queen'—
But aye she loot the tears down fa'
For Jock of Hazeldean.

The kirk was deck'd at morning-tide,

The tapers glimmer'd fair;

The priest and bridegroom wait the bride,
And dame and knight are there:
They sought her baith by bower and ha'
The ladie was not seen!

She's o'er the Border, and awa'
Wi' Jock of Hazeldean.

430

ELEU LORO

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.

Eleu loro

431

Never, O never!

Eleu loro

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;
Eleu loro

There shall he be lying.

Her wing shall the eagle flap
O'er the falsehearted;
His warm blood the wolf shall lap
Ere life be parteà.
Shame and dishonour sit

By his grave ever;

Blessing shall hallow it

Never, O never!

Eleu loro
Never, O never!

A SERENADE

AH! County Guy, the hour is nigh
The sun has left the lea,

The orange-flower perfumes the bower,
The breeze is on the sea.

The lark, his lay who trill'd all day,

Sits hush'd his partner nigh;

Breeze, bird, and flower confess the hour,
But where is County Guy?

The village maid steals through the shade
Her shepherd's suit to hear;

To Beauty shy, by lattice high,
Sings high-born Cavalier.

The star of Love, all stars above,.
Now reigns o'er earth and sky,

And high and low the influence know-
But where is County Guy?

432

THE ROVER

A WEARY lot is thine, fair maid,
A weary lot is thine!

To pull the thorn thy brow to braid,
And press the rue for wine.
A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien
A feather of the blue,

A doublet of the Lincoln green-
No more of me you knew
My Love!

No more of me you knew.

'This morn is merry June, I trow,
The rose is budding fain;

But she shall bloom in winter snow
Ere we two meet again.'

He turn'd his charger as he spake
Upon the river shore,

He gave the bridle-reins a shake,
Said Adieu for evermore
My Love!

And adieu for evermore.'

433

THE MAID OF NEIDPATH

O LOVERS' eyes are sharp to see,
And lovers' ears in hearing;
And love, in life's extremity,
Can lend an hour of cheering.
Disease had been in Mary's bower
And slow decay from mourning,