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One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,
When they reached the hall door, and the charger
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
"They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar.
There was mounting 'mong Græmes of the Netherby clan;
Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode, and they ran;
There was racing, and chasing, on Cannobie Lee,
SIR WALTER SCOTT.
The Convict Ship.
MORN on the waters!-and, purple and bright,
O'er the glad waves, like a child of the sun,
Full to the breeze she unbosoms her sail,
And her pennon streams onward, like hope in the gale;
And the surges rejoice as they bear her along;
Night on the waves !-and the moon is on high,
Bright and alone on the shadowy main,
Like a heart-cherish'd home on some desolate plain!
A phantom of beauty-could deem with a sigh,
That so lovely a thing is the mansion of sin,
And that souls that are smitten lie bursting within?
Remembers that wave after wave is dividing
'Tis thus with our life, while it passes along,
As the smiles we put on, just to cover our tears; And the withering thoughts which the world cannot know,
Like heart-broken exiles, lie burning below;
Whilst the vessel drives on to that desolate shore
Where the dreams of our childhood are vanish'd and
To the Rainbow.
TRIUMPHAL arch, that fill'st the sky
When storms prepare to part,
I ask not proud philosophy
To teach me what thou art :
Still seem as to my childhood's sight,
A midway station given
For happy spirits to alight
Betwixt the earth and heaven.
Can all that optics teach unfold
A form to please me so, As when I dream'd of gems
Hid in thy radiant bow?
When Science from Creation's face
And yet, fair bow, no fabled dreams,
When o'er the green undeluged earth
How came the world's grey father's forth
And when its yellow lustre smiled
O'er mountains yet untrod,
Each mother held aloft her child
Methinks, thy jubilee to keep,
Nor ever shall the Muse's eye
The earth to thee her incense yields,
How glorious is thy girdle cast
Or mirror'd in the ocean vast,
As fresh in yon horizon dark,