Imagens da página
PDF
ePub

"Where will I get a bonnie boy, to win hose and shoon, Will gae to Glenlogie, and come again soon?"

"O here am I, a bonnie boy, to win hose and shoon, Will gae to Glenlogie and come again soon."

When he gaed to Glenlogie, 'twas "Wash and go dine 'Twas "Wash ye, my pretty boy, wash and go dine." "O'twas ne'er my father's fashion, and it ne'er shall be mine To gar a lady's errand wait till I dine.

"But there is, Glenlogie, a letter for thee."

The first line that he read, a low smile ga'e he;
The next line that he read, the tear blindit his e'e:
But the last line he read, he gart the table flee.

"Gar saddle the black horse, gar saddle the brown;
Gar saddle the swiftest steed e'er rade frae a town";
But lang ere the horse was brought round to the green,
O bonnie Glenlogie was two mile his lane.

When he cam' to Glenfeldy's door, sma' mirth was there; Bonnie Jean's mither was tearing her hair;

"Ye're welcome, Glenlogie, ye're welcome," said she, "Ye're welcome, Glenlogie, your Jeanie to see."

Pale and wan was she, when Glenlogie gaed ben,

But red rosy grew she whene'er he sat down;

She turned awa' her head, but the smile was in her e'e, "O binna feared, mither, I'll maybe no dee."

Unknown

LOCHINVAR

From "Marmion"

O, YOUNG Lochinvar is come out of the west,
Through all the wide Border his steed was the best;
And, save his good broadsword, he weapon had none,

He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone.

So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,

There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.

Lochinvar

He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone,
He swam the Eske river where ford there was none;

But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate,

The bride had consented, the gallant came late;
For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.

So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall,

Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all.
Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword,
(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word),
"O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,
Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?"

"I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied;—
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide,—
And now am I come, with this lost love of mine,
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine,
There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far,
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar."

The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up,
He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup.
She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh,
With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye.
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,—
"Now tread we a measure!" said young Lochinvar.

755

So stately his form, and so lovely her face,
That never a hall such a galliard did grace;
While her mother did fret, and her father did fume.
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume;
And the bride-maidens whispered, "Twere better by far,
To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar."

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,
When they reached the hall-door, and the charger stood near
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 scaur; They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Loch

invar.

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,
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see.
So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,
Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?
Walter Scott [1771-1832]

[merged small][ocr errors]

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 Hazel ́

Allen-a-Dale

The kirk was decked at morning-tide,
The tapers glimmered 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.

757

Walter Scott [1771-1832]

ALLEN-A-DALE

From "Rokeby"

ALLEN-A-DALE has no fagot for burning,
Allen-a-Dale has no furrow for turning,
Allen-a-Dale has no fleece for the spinning,
Yet Allen-a-Dale has red gold for the winning.
Come, read me my riddle! come, hearken my tale!
And tell me the craft of bold Allen-a-Dale.

The Baron of Ravensworth prances in pride,
And he views his domains upon Arkindale side.
The mere for his net, and the land for his game,
The chase for the wild, and the park for the tame;
Yet the fish of the lake, and the deer of the vale,
Are less free to Lord Dacre than Allen-a-Dale!

Allen-a-Dale was ne'er belted a knight,

Though his spur be as sharp, and his blade be as bright; Allen-a-Dale is no baron or lord,

Yet twenty tall yeomen will draw at his word;

And the best of our nobles his bonnet will vail,

Who at Rere-cross on Stanmore meets Allen-a-Dale!

Allen-a-Dale to his wooing is come;

The mother, she asked of his household and home: "Though the castle of Richmond stand fair on the hill, My hall," quoth bold Allen, "shows gallanter still; 'Tis the blue vault of heaven, with its crescent so pale, And with all its bright spangles!" said Allen-a-] a-Dale.

The father was steel, and the mother was stone;
They lifted the latch, and they bade him be gone;
But loud, on the morrow, their wail and their cry:
He had laughed on the lass with his bonny black eye,
And she fled to the forest to hear a love-tale,
And the youth it was told by was Allen-a-Dale!
Walter Scott (1771-1832]

A FARM WALK

THE year stood at its equinox,

And bluff the North was blowing,
A bleat of lambs came from the flocks,
Green hardy things were growing;
I met a maid with shining locks
Where milky kine were lowing.

She wore a kerchief on her neck,
Her bare arm showed its dimple,
Her apron spread without a speck,
Her air was frank and simple.

She milked into a wooden pail,
And sang a country ditty,→
An innocent fond lovers' tale,
That was not wise nor witty,
Pathetically rustical,

Too pointless for the city.

She kept in time without a beat,
As true as church-bell ringers,
Unless she tapped time with her feet,
Or squeezed it with her fingers;
Her clear, unstudied notes were sweet
As many a practised singer's.

I stood a minute out of sight,
Stood silent for a minute,

To eye the pail, and creamy white
The frothing milk within it,→

« AnteriorContinuar »