The wind blew, the hoarse ivy shook over her head :— She listen'd;-nought else could she hear. The wind ceased, her heart sunk in her bosom with dread, For she heard in the ruins-distinctly the tread Of footsteps approaching her near. Behind a wide column, half breathless with fear, That instant, the moon o'er a dark cloud shone clear, Then Mary could feel her heart-blood curdle cold! It blew off the hat of the one, and behold! Even close to the feet of poor Mary it roll❜d— "Curse the hat!"-he exclaims-" Nay, come on, and fast The dead body!" his comrade replies. She beheld them in safety pass on by her side, She ran with wild speed, she rush'd in at the door, Her limbs could support their faint burden no more; Ere yet her pale lips could the story impart, [hide For, Ó Heaven! what cold horror thrill'd thro' her heart, When the name of her Richard she knew! Where the old Abbey stands, on the common hard by, His gibbet is now to be seen; Not far from the inn it engages the eye; The traveller beholds it, and thinks, with a sigh, Of poor Mary, the Maid of the Inn. Lord Ullin's Daughter. A CHIEFTAIN to the Highlands bound, Cries," Boatman, do not tarry, And I'll give thee a silver pound, To row us o'er the ferry!" Southey "Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle, This dark and stormy water?” "Oh! I'm the chief of Ulva's isle, And this, Lord Ullin's daughter: And fast before her father's men, Three days we've fled together; For, should he find us in the glen, My blood would stain the heather 66 His horsemen hard behind us ride; Out spoke the hardy Highland wight, It is not for your silver bright, But for your winsome lady! "And, by my word, the bonny bird By this the storm grew loud apace, But still as wilder blew the wind, And as the night grew drearer, Adown the glen rode armed men! Their trampling sounded nearer! "Oh! haste thee, haste!" the lady cries; "Though tempests round us gather, I'll meet the raging of the skies, But not an angry father." The boat has left a stormy land, A stormy sea before her,— When-oh! too strong for human hand! The tempest gather'd o'er her r— And still they row'd, amidst the roar Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore, His wrath was changed to wailing For sore dismay'd, through storm and shade, One lovely arm was stretch'd for aid, 66 And one was round her lover. Come back! come back!" he cried in grief, 66 Across this stormy water; And I'll forgive your Highland chief, My daughter!-oh! my daughter!"— 'Twas vain!-the loud waves lash'd the shore, Return or aid preventing: The waters wild went o'er his child And he was left lamenting. Campbell. Song from the Lady of the Lake. SOLDIER, rest! thy warfare o'er, Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking; Dream of battle-fields no more, Days of danger, nights of waking. In our isle's enchanted hall, Hands unseen thy couch are strewing, Fairy strains of music fall, Every sense in slumber dewing. Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, No rude sound shall reach thine ear, Mustering clan, or squadron tramping. "Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle, This dark and stormy water?" 'Oh! I'm the chief of Ulva's isle, And this, Lord Ullin's daughter: 'And fast before her father's men, Out spoke the hardy Highland wight, 66 I'll go, my chief—I'm ready:— It is not for your silver bright, But for your winsome lady! "And, by my word, the bonny bird By this the storm grew loud apace, The water-wraith was shrieking, But still as wilder blew the wind, Oh! haste thee, haste!" the lady cries; "Though tempests round us gather, I'll meet the raging of the skies, But not an angry father." The boat has left a stormy land, The tempest gather'd o'er her— And still they row'd, amidst the roar Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore, His wrath was changed to wailing— For sore dismay'd, through storm and shade, One lovely arm was stretch'd for aid, And one was round her lover. 'Come back! come back!" he cried in grief, 66 Across this stormy water; And I'll forgive your Highland chief, My daughter!-oh! my daughter!" 'Twas vain!-the loud waves lash'd the shore, Return or aid preventing: The waters wild went o'er his child And he was left lamenting. Campbell Song from the Lady of the Lake. SOLDIER, rest! thy warfare o'er, Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking; Dream of battle-fields no more, Days of danger, nights of waking. In our isle's enchanted hall, Hands unseen thy couch are strewing, Fairy strains of music fall, Every sense in slumber dewing. Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, No rude sound shall reach thine ear, Mustering clan, or squadron tramping. |