"Farewell, farewell! and Mary grant, The Ranger on his couch lay warm, For low, when through the vapors dank, A corpse amid the alders rank, THE MAID OF NEIDPATH. [There is a tradition in Tweeddale, that, when Neidpath Castle, near Peebles, was inhabited by the Earls of March, a mutual passion subsisted between a daughter of that noble family, and a son of the Laird of Tushielaw, in Ettrick Forest. As the alliance was thought unsuitable by her parents, the young man went abroad. During his absence, the lady fell into a consumption; and at length, as the only means of saving her life, her father consented that her lover should be recalled. On the day when he was expected to pass through Peebles, on the road to Tushielaw, the young lady, though much exhausted, caused herself to be carried to the balcony of a house in Peebles, belonging to the family, that she might see him as he rode past. Her anxiety and eagerness gave such force to her organs, that she is said to have distinguished his horse's footsteps at an incredible distance. But Tushielaw, unprepared for the change in her appearance, and not expecting to see her in that place, rode on without recognizing her, or even slackening his pace. The lady was unable to support the shock; and, after a short struggle, died in the arms of her attendants. There is an incident similar to this traditional tale in Count Hamilton's "Fleur d'Epine."] O LOVERS' eyes are sharp to see, Can lend an hour of cheering. To watch her love's returning. All sunk and dim her eyes so bright, Across her cheek was flying; Yet keenest powers to see and hear, As on the wing to meet him. He came - he pass'd -a heedless gaze, Returns each whisper spoken, Could scarcely catch the feeble moan, Which told her heart was broken. REBECCA'S HYMN. WHEN Israel, of the Lord beloved, Out from the land of bondage came, Her fathers' God before her moved, An awful guide in smoke and flame By day, along the astonish'd lands The clouded pillar glided slow; By night Arabia's crimson'd sands Return'd the fiery column's glow. Ther, rose the choral hymn of praise, And trump and timbrel answer'd keen, And Zion's daughters pour'd their lays, With priest's and warrior's voice be tween. No portents now our foes amaze, own. Ends in some metaphysic dream: FAREWELL TO MACKENZIE, HIGH CHIEF OF KINTAIL. [From the Gaelic.] [The original verses are arranged to a beautiful Gaelic air, of which the chorus is adapted to the double pull upon the oars of a galley, and which is therefore distinct from the ordinary jorrams, or boat-songs. They were composed by the Family Bard upon the departure of the Earl of Seaforth, who was obliged to take refuge in Spain, after an unsuccessful effort at insurrection in favor of the Stuart family, in the year 1718.] FAREWELL to Mackenneth, great Earl of the North, The Lord of Lochcarron, Glenshiel, and Seaforth; To the Chieftain this morning his course who began, Launching forth on the billows his bark like a swan. For a far foreign land he has hoisted his sail : Farewell to Mackenzie, High Chief of Kintail! O swift be the galley, and hardy her crew, May her captain be skilful, her mariners true, In danger undaunted, unwearied by toil, Though the whirlwind should rise, and the ocean should boil: On the brave vessel's gunnel I drank his bonail,1 And farewell to Mackenzie, High Chief of Kintail! 1 Bonail, or Bonailez, the old Scottish phrase for a feast at parting with a friend. [SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE was born at Ottery Saint Mary in the year 1772, was educated ar Christ's Hospital and Jesus College, Cambridge, and died in 1834, at Highgate, in the house of Mr. Gillman, under whose friendly care he had passed the last eighteen years of his life, during which years he wrote but little. His first volume of poems was published at Bristol in 1796, and in 1798, Wordsworth's famous volume of Lyrical Ballads, to which Coleridge contributed The Ancient Mariner, together with some other pieces. Christabel, after lying long in manuscript, was printed in 1816, three editions of it appearing in one year; and in the next year Coleridge published a collection of his chief poems, under the title of Sibylline Leaves, "in allusion," as he says, to the fragmentary and wildly-scattered state in which they had been long suffered to remain." Α desultory writer both in prose and verse, he published the first really collective edition of his Poetical and Dramatic Works in the year 1828, in three volumes arranged by himself; a third and more complete issue of which, arranged by another hand, appeared in 1834, the year of his death. The latest reprint, with notes and an excellent memoir, and some poems not included in any earlier collection, is founded on that final edition of 1834.] 66 THE ANCIENT MARINER AMONG THE DEAD BODIES OF THE SAILORS. ALONE, alone, all, all alone, And never a saint took pity on The many men, so beautiful! And a thousand thousand slimy things I looked upon the rotting sea, I looked to heaven, and tried to pray; I closed my eyes and kept them close, Lay like a load on my weary eye, The cold sweat melted from their limbs, Nor rot nor reck did they : The look with which they looked on me Had never passed away. An orphan's curse would drag to hell But oh more horrible than that And yet I could not die. THE ANCIENT MARINER FINDS Within the shadow of the ship I watched their rich attire: O happy living things! no tongue A spring of love gushed from my heart, Sure my kind saint took pity on me, The selfsame moment I could pray; THE BREEZE AFTER THE CALM. OH sleep! it is a gentle thing, To Mary Queen the praise be given! The silly buckets on the deck, I dreamt that they were filled with dew; My lips were wet, my throat was cold, I moved, and could not feel my limbs : I thought that I had died in sleep, And soon I heard a roaring wind: The upper air burst into life! And the coming wind did roar more loud, The Moon was at its edge. The thick black cloud was cleft, and still Like waters shot from some high crag, THE BEST PRAYER. HE prayeth best, who loveth best All things both great and small; For the dear God who loveth us, He made and loveth all. FIRST PART OF CHRISTABEL. 'Tis the middle of night by the castle clock, And the owls have awaken'd the crowing cock, Tu-whit! -Tu-whoo! And hark, again! the crowing cock, Sir Leoline, the Baron rich, Ever and aye, by shine and shower, Is the night chilly and dark? way. The lovely lady, Christabel, She stole along, she nothing spoke, And naught was green upon the oak The lady sprang up suddenly, It moaned as near as near can be, tree. The night is chill; the forest bare; Hush, beating heart of Christabel ! She folded her arms beneath her cloak, There she sees a damsel bright, wan, Her stately neck and arms were bare; |