She lean'd against the arméd man, Few sorrows hath she of her own, The songs that make her grieve. She listen'd with a flitting blush, I told her of the Knight that wore I told her how he pined: and ah! She listen'd with a flitting blush, Too fondly on her face! But when I told the cruel scorn That crazed that bold and lovely Knight, That sometimes from the savage den, In green and sunny glade, There came and look'd him in the face And that unknowing what he did, And how she wept, and clasp'd his knees; The scorn that crazed his brain;- His dying words-but when I reach'd All impulses of soul and sense The rich and balmy eve; And hopes, and fears that kindle hope, She wept with pity and delight, She blush'd with love, and virgin shame; Her bosom heaved-she stepp'd aside, 5 10 She half inclosed me with her arms, 'Twas partly love, and partly fear, I calm'd her fears, and she was calm, My bright and beauteous Bride. CCXII ALL FOR LOVE O talk not to me of a name great in story; 5 What are garlands and crowns to the brow that is wrinkled? 'Tis but as a dead flower with May-dew besprinkled: Then away with all such from the head that is hoaryWhat care I for the wreaths that can only give glory? O Fame!—if I e'er took delight in thy praises. 10 'Twas less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases, Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one discover She thought that I was not unworthy to love her. There chiefly I sought thee, there only I found thee; Her glance was the best of the rays that surround thee; 15 When it sparkled o'er aught that was bright in my story. I knew it was love, and I felt it was glory. Lord Byron CCXIII THE OUTLAW O Brignall banks are wild and fair, And you may gather garlands there 'O Brignall banks are fresh and fair, I'd rather rove with Edmund there 'If, Maiden, thou wouldst wend with me, Thou first must guess what life lead we And if thou canst that riddle read, Then to the greenwood shalt thou speed Yet sung she, 'Brignall banks are fair, 'I read you, by your bugle-horn I read you for a ranger sworn His blast is heard at merry morn, Yet sung she, 'Brignall banks are fair, I would I were with Edmund there 'With burnish'd brand and musketoon I read you for a bold Dragoon No more the trumpet hear; But when the beetle sounds his hum And O! though Brignall banks be fair Yet mickle must the maiden dare 'Maiden! a nameless life I lead, The fiend whose lantern lights the mead And when I'm with my comrades met Chorus 'Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair, And you may gather garlands there Sir W. Scott 5 CCXIV There be none of Beauty's daughters And like music on the waters Is thy sweet voice to me: When, as if its sounds were causing |