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Receding now, the dying numbers ring And as I rode by Dalton Hall,

5 Fainter and fainter down the rugged Beneath the turrets high, dell,

A maiden on the castle wall And now the mountain breezes scarcely Was singing merrily:bring

25 "Oh, Brignall banks are fresh and fair, A wandering witch-note of the distant And Greta woods are green; spell

I'd rather rove with Edmund there, And now, 'tis silent all!- Enchantress, Than reign our English queen.' fare thee well!

"If, maiden, thou wouldst wend with me, JOCK OF HAZELDEAN

To leave both tower and town,

Thou first must guess what life lead we 15 “Why weep ye by the tide, ladie?

That dwell by dale and down. Why weep ye by the tide?

And if thou canst that riddle read, I'll wed ye to my youngest son,

As read full well you may, And ye sall be his bride;

Then to the greenwood shalt thou speed, And ye sall be his bride, ladie,

5 As blithe as Queen of May."Sae comely to be seen

Yet sung she: “Brignall banks are fair, But aye she loot the tears down fa'

And Greta woods are green; For Jock of Hazeldean.

I'd rather rove with Edmund there,

Than reign our English queen. “Now let this wilfu' grief be done, And dry that cheek so pale;

“I read you by your bugle-horn, Young Frank is chief of Errington,

And by your palfrey good, And lord of Langley-dale;

I read you for a ranger sworn His step is first in peaceful ha',

To keep the King's greenwood.”His sword in battle keen”

'A ranger, lady, winds his horn, But aye she loot the tears down fa'

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And 'tis at peep of light: For Jock of Hazeldean.

His blast is heard at merry morn,

And mine at dead of night.' “A chain of gold ye sall not lack,

Yet sung she: “Brignall banks are fair, Nor braid to bind your hair;

And Greta woods are gay; Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk, I would I were with Edmund there, 35 Nor palfrey fresh and fair;

To reign his Queen of May. And you,

the foremost o' them a', Shall ride our forest queen

“With burnished brand and musketoon But aye she loot the tears down fa'

So gallantly you come,
For Jock of Hazeldean.

I read you for a bold dragoon
That lists the tuck of drum."

40 The kirk was decked at morning-tide, 25 “I list no more the tuck of drum, The tapers glimmered fair;

No more the trumpet hear,
The priest and bridegroom wait the bride, But when the beetle sounds his hum,
And dame and knight are there.

My comrades take the spear,
They sought her baith by bower and ha'; And oh, though Brignall banks be fair, 45
The lady was not seen!

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And Greta woods be gay, She's o'er the Border, and awa'

Yet mickle must the maiden dare
Wi' Jock of Hazeldean.

Would reign my Queen of May!
BRIGNALL BANKS

“Maiden, a nameless life I lead,
A nameless death I'll die:

50 Oh, Brignall banks are wild and fair, The fiend, whose lantern lights the mead, And Greta woods are green,

Were better mate than I! And you may gather garlands there And when I'm with my comrades met, Would grace a summer queen.

Beneath the greenwood bough,

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Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the

street, The bells are rung backward, the drums

they are beat; But the provost, douced man, said, “Just

e'en let him be, The Gude Town is weel quit of that Deil

of Dundee.” Come fill up my cup, etc.

1 sedate.

“There are hills beyond Pentland and

lands beyond Forth, If there's lords in the Lowlands, there's chiefs in the North;

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He waved his proud hand and the trumpets were blown,

45 The kettle-drums clashed and the horse

men rode on, Till on Ravelston's cliffs and on Cler

miston's lea Died away the wild war-notes of Bonny

Dundee.
Come fill up my cup, come fill up my

can,
Come saddle the horses and call up

50 Come open your gates and let me gae

free, For it's up with the bonnets of Bonny

Dundee!

KNOW YE THE LAND?

the men,

GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYRON

(1788–1824)

Know ye the land where the cypress and

myrtle Are emblems of deeds that are done in

their clime? Where the rage of the vulture, the love of

the turtle, Now melt into sorrow, now madden to

crime? Know ye the land of the cedar and vine, 5 Where the flowers ever blossom, the beams

ever shine; Where the light wings of Zephyr, oppressed

with perfume, Wax faint o'er the gardens of Gúl in her

bloom; Where the citron and olive are fairest of

fruit, And the voice of the nightingale never is

mute;

WHEN WE TWO PARTED

When we two parted

In silence and tears, Half broken-hearted To sever for years,

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Where the tints of the earth, and the hues Like the leaves of the forest when Sumof the sky,

mer is green,

5 In color though varied, in beauty may vie, That host with their banners at sunset And the purple of ocean is deepest in dye; Where the virgins are soft as the roses they Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn twine,

hath blown, And all, save the spirit of man, is divine? 15 That host on the morrow lay withered 'Tis the clime of the East; 'tis the land of and strown.

the SunCan he smile on such deeds as his children For the Angel of Death spread his wings have done?

on the blast, Oh! wild as the accents of lovers' farewell And breathed in the face of the foe as he Are the hearts which they bear, and the passed; tales which they tell.

And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly

and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and

for ever grew still! SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY

And there lay the steed with his nostril all She walks in beauty, like the night

wide, Of cloudless climes and starry skies; But through it there rolled not the breath And all that's best of dark and bright

of his pride; Meet in her aspect and her eyes: And the foam of his gasping lay white on Thus mellowed to that tender light 5

the turf,

15 Which heaven to gaudy day denies. And cold as the spray of the rock-beating

surf. One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impaired the nameless grace And there lay the rider distorted and pale, Which waves in every raven tress,

With the dew on his brow, and the rust on Or softly lightens o'er her face;

his mail: Where thoughts serenely sweet express And the tents were all silent, the banners How pure, how dear, their dwelling- alone, place.

The lances unlifted, the trumpet un

blown. And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their The smiles that win, the tints that glow, 15 wail,

But tell of days in goodness spent, And the idols are broke in the temple of A mind at peace with all below,

Baal; A heart whose love is innocent!.

And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by

the sword,
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the

Lord!
THE DESTRUCTION OF
SENNACHERIB

STANZAS FOR MUSIC The Assyrian came down like the wolf on There be none of Beauty's daughters the fold,

With a magic like thee; And his cohorts were gleaming in purple And like music on the waters and gold;

Is thy sweet voice to me: And the sheen of their spears was like When, as if its sound were causing

5 stars on the sea,

The charmed ocean's pausing, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep The waves lie still and gleaming, Galilee.

And the lulled winds seem dreaming.

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SONNET ON CHILLON

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And the midnight moon is weaving

Her bright chain o'er the deep; Whose breast is gently heaving,

As an infant's asleep: So the spirit bows before thee, To listen and adore thee; With a full but soft emotion, Like the swell of Summer's ocean.

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SO, WE'LL GO NO MORE A-ROVING

So, we'll go no more a-roving

So late into the night, Though the heart be still as loving,

And the moon be still as bright.

Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind! Brightest in dungeons, Liberty! thou art, For there thy habitation is the heartThe heart which love of thee alone can

bind; And when thy sons to fetters are consigned

5 To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless

gloom, Their country conquers with their martyr

dom, And Freedom's fame finds wings on every

wind. Chillon! thy prison is a holy place, And thy sad steps an altar-for 't was

trod, Until his very steps have left a trace Worn, as if thy cold pavement were a sod, By Bonnivard! May none those marks

efface! For they appeal from tyranny to God.

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For the sword outwears its sheath,

And the soul wears out the breast, And the heart must pause to breathe,

And love itself have rest.

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THE PRISONER OF CHILLON

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My hair is gray, but not with years;

Nor grew it white

In a single night,
As men's have grown from sudden fears:
My limbs are bowed, though not with

toil,
But ru
with a vile repose,

6. For they have been a dungeon's spoil,

And mine has been the fate of those To whom the goodly earth and air Are banned, and barred-forbidden fare; 10 But this was for my father's faith I suffered chains and courted death: That father perished at the stake For tenets he would not forsake; And for the same his lineal race

15 In darkness found a dwelling-place. We were seven-who now are one;

Six in youth, and one in age,
Finished as they had begun,

Proud of Persecution's rage;
One in fire, and two in field,
Their belief with blood have sealed
Dying as their father died,
For the God their foes denied;
Three were in a dungeon cast,

25 Of whom this wreck is left the last.

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With that water, as this wine,

The libation I would pour Should be-peace with thine and mine,

And a health to thee, Tom Moore. 20

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