The day arrived, the evening came,
The lady looked wi' wistfu' ee;
But O alas! her noble Græme

Frae e'en to morn she didna see.

The sun had drunk frae Keilder Fell
His beverage o' the mornin' dew;
The deer had crouched her i' the dell,
The heather oped its bells o' blue.

*

An' she has sat her down and grat ;

*

1

The world to her a desert seemed; An' she wyted 2 this an' she wyted that, But o' the real cause never dreamed.

When lo! Sir David's trusty hound,

Wi' humpling back, and a waefu' ee, Cam cringing in and lookit around,

But his look was hopeless as could be.

He laid his head on that lady's knee,

3

An' he lookit as somebody he wad name;
An' there was a language in his howe 3 ee,
That was stronger than a tongue could frame.

She fed him wi' the milk an' the bread,
An' ilka thing that he wad hae;
He lickit her hand, he cowered his head,
Then slowly, slowly he slunkered away.

But she has eyed her fause knight's hound
And a' to see where he wad gae;
He whined, an' he howled, an' lookit around,
Then slowly, slowly he trudged away.

1 Wept.

2 Blamed.

3 Hollow.

She followed the hound o'er muirs an' rocks,

Through mony a dell an' dowie1 glen; Till frae her brow an' bonnie gowd locks

The dew dreepit doun like the draps o' rain.

An' aye she said, "My love may be hid,
An' daurna come to the castle to me;
But him I will find and dearly I'll chide
For lack o' stout heart an' courtesy."

An' aye she eyed the gray sleuth-hound,
As he windit ower Deadwater Fell,
Till he cam to the den wi' the moss inbound;
An' O but it kythed 2 a lonesome dell!

An' he waggit his tail, an' he fawned about,
Then he cowered him doun sae wearily.
"Ah! yon's my love; I have found him out;
He's lying waiting i' the dell for me.

"What ails my love, that he looks na roun',
A lady's stately step to view?

Ah me! I have neither stockings nor shoon, An' my feet are wet wi' the moorland dew.

"Sae sound as he sleeps i' his hunting gear, To waken him great pity wad be:

Deaf is the man that caresna to hear,

And blind is he wha wantsna to see!"

She gae ae look; she needit but ane,
For it left nae sweet uncertainty;

She saw a wound through his shoulder bane,
An' in his brave breast two or three.

There's a cloud fa's darker than the night,
An' darkly on that lady it came;

There's a sleep as deep as the sleep outright : 'Tis without a feeling or a name.

O shepherd, lift yon comely corpse !

Well may you see no wound is there : There's a faint rose 'mid the bright dewdrops, An' they have not wet her glossy hair.

There's a lady has lived in Hoswood Tower, 'Tis seven years past on St. Lambert's day; An' aye, when comes the vesper hour,

These words an' no more can she say:

"They slew my love on the wild swaird green, As he was on his way to me;

An' the ravens picked his bonnie blue een,
An' the tongue that was formed for courtesy.

"My brothers they slew my comely knight,
An' his grave is red blood to the brim:
I thought to have slept out the lang, lang night;
But they've wakened me, an' wakened not
him!"
JAMES HOGG

103.-COURAGE

GIVE me a spirit that on this life's rough sea Loves to have his sails filled with a lusty wind Even till his sailyards tremble, his masts crack, And his rapt ship runs on her side so low

That she drinks water, and her keel ploughs air;
There is no danger to a man that knows
What life and death is,-there's not any law
Exceeds his knowledge; neither is it lawful
That he should stoop to any other law.

G. CHAPMAN

104.-PASSAGES FROM "IN MEMORIAM"1

I

I.−(XI)

CALM is the morn without a sound,
Calm as to suit a calmer grief,

And only through the faded leaf

The chestnut pattering to the ground:

Calm and deep peace on this high wold,
And on these dews that drench the furze,
And all the silvery gossamers

That twinkle into green and gold:

Calm and still light on yon great plain

That sweeps with all its Autumn bowers,
And crowded farms and lessening towers,

To mingle with the bounding main :

Calm and deep peace in this wide air,

These leaves that redden to the fall;
And in my heart, if calm at all,

If any calm, a calm despair:

1 Written in memory of his friend, Arthur H. Hallam, who died at Vienna, and was buried at Clevedon.

Calm on the seas, and silver sleep,

And waves that sway themselves in rest, And dead calm in that noble breast Which heaves but with the heaving deep.

2. (XVIII)

'Tis well; 'tis something; we may stand Where he in English earth is laid, And from his ashes may be made

The violet of his native land.

'Tis little; but it looks in truth

As if the quiet bones were blest Among familiar names to rest And in the places of his youth.

Come then, pure hands, and bear the head That sleeps or wears the mask of sleep, And come, whatever loves to weep,

And hear the ritual of the dead.

Ah yet, ev'n yet, if this might be,

I, falling on his faithful heart,

Would breathing through his lips impart

The life that almost dies in me;

That dies not, but endures with pain,

And slowly forms the firmer mind, Treasuring the look it cannot find, The words that are not heard again.