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her ear,

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you denied:

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For a laggard in love, and a dastard in And the bridegroom stood dangling his war,

bonnet and plume; Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Loch And the bride-maidens whispered, “Twere invar.

better by far

To have matched our fair cousin with So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall,

young Lochinvar." Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all:

One touch to her hand, and one word in Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword,

When they reached the hall-door, and the (For the poor craven bridegroom said charger stood near: never a word):

So light to the croupe the fair lady he "O come ye in peace here, or come ye in

swung, war,

So light to the saddle before her he Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord sprung! Lochinvar?"

"She is won! we

are gone, over bank,

bush, and scaur! “I long wooed your daughter, my suit They'll have fleet steeds that follow !"

quoth young Lochinvar. Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide

There was mounting 'mong Græmes of

the Netherby clan; And now am I come, with this lost love

Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they of mine To lead but one measure, drink one cup

rode and they ran: of wine.

There was racing and chasing on CanThere are maidens in Scotland more lovely

nobie Lee, by far,

But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did That would gladly be bride to the young

they see. Lochinvar.”

So daring in love and so dauntless in

war, The bride kissed the goblet; the knight

Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young took it up,

Lochinvar?

25 He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup.

HUNTING SONG She looked down to blush, and she looked

(1808) up to sigh, With a smile on her lips, and a tear in Waken, lords and ladies gay,

On the mountain dawns the day; He took her soft hand ere her mother

All the jolly chase is here, could bar,

With hawk, and horse, and hunting-spear! “Now tread we a measure!” said young Hounds are in their couples yelling, 5 Lochinvar,

Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling,

Merrily, merrily, mingle they: So stately his form, and so lovely her "Waken, lords and ladies gay."

face, That never

a hall such a galliard did Waken, lords and ladies gay, grace;

The mist has left the mountain grey; 10 While her mother did fret, and her father | Springlets in the dawn are steaming, did fume,

Diamonds on the brake are gleaming:

!

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her eye.

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EPILOGUE

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And now the mountain breezes scarcely

bring A wandering witch-note of the distant

spell — And now, 'tis silent all! — Enchantress,

fare thee well!

BRIGNALL BANKS

Harp of the North, farewell! The hills

grow dark, On purple peaks a deeper shade de

scending; In twilight copse the glow-worm lights

her spark, The deer, half-seen, are to the covert

wending. Resume thy wizard elm! the fountain lending,

65 And the wild breeze, thy wilder min

strelsy; Thy numbers sweet with nature's vespers

blending, With distant echo from the fold and

lea, And herd-boy's evening pipe, and hum

of housing bee.

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(From Rokeby, 1812: Canto Third,

Section xvi ff.)
O, Brignall banks are wild and fair,

And Greta woods are green,
And you may gather garlands there

Would grace a summer queen.
And as I rode by Dalton-hall,

5 Beneath the turrets high, A maiden on the castle wall

Was singing merrily: “O, Brignall banks are fresh and fair,

And Greta woods are green;
I'd rather rove with Edmund there

Than reign our English queen.” “If, maiden, thou wouldst wend with me,

To leave both tower and town, Thou first must guess what life lead we 15

That dwell by dale and down. And if thou canst that riddle read,

As read full well you may,
Then to the greenwood shalt thou speed,

As blithe as Queen of May.".
Yet sung she, “Brignall banks are fair,

And Greta woods are green;
I'd rather rove with Edmund there

Than reign our English queen. “I read you, by your bugle-horn,

And by your palfrey good,
I read you for a ranger sworn

To keep the king's greenwood.” "A ranger, lady, winds his horn,

And 'tis at peep of light;
His blast is heard at merry morn,

And mine at dead of night.”.
Yet sung she, “Brignall banks are fair,

And Greta woods are gay;
I would I were with Edmund there,

To reign his Queen of May!

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Hark! as my lingering footsteps slow

retire, Some Spirit of the Air has waked thy

string! 'Tis now

a seraph bold, with touch of fire, 'Tis now the brush of Fairy's frolic

wing. Receding now, the dying numbers ring Fainter and fainter down the rugged

dell;

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