Sir Walter Scott
¶[1771-1832]
The Outlaw
¶O BRIGNALL banks are wild and fair,And Greta woods are green,And you may gather garlands thereWould grace a summer-queen.And as I rode by Dalton-HallBeneath the turrets high,A Maiden on the castle-wallWas singing merrily:'O Brignall Banks are fresh and fair,And Greta woods are green;I'd rather rove with Edmund thereThan reign our English queen.'
¶'If, Maiden, thou wouldst wend with me,To leave both tower and town,Thou first must guess what life lead weThat dwell by dale and down.And if thou canst that riddle read,As read full well you may,[739]Then to the greenwood shalt thou speedAs blithe as Queen of May.'Yet sung she, 'Brignall banks are fair,And Greta woods are green;I'd rather rove with Edmund thereThan reign our English queen.
¶'I read you, by your bugle-hornAnd by your palfrey good,I read you for a ranger swornTo keep the king's greenwood.''A Ranger, lady, winds his horn,And 'tis at peep of light;His blast is heard at merry morn,And mine at dead of night.'Yet sung she, 'Brignall banks are fair,And Greta woods are gay;I would I were with Edmund thereTo reign his Queen of May!
¶'With burnish'd brand and musketoonSo gallantly you come,I read you for a bold DragoonThat lists the tuck of drum.''I list no more the tuck of drum,No more the trumpet near;But when the beetle sounds his humMy comrades take the spear.And O! though Brignall banks be fairAnd Greta woods be gay,Yet mickle must the maiden dareWould reign my Queen of May!
¶'Maiden! a nameless life I lead,A nameless death I'll die;The fiend whose lantern lights the meadWere better mate than I!And when I'm with my comrades metBeneath the greenwood bough,—What once we were we all forget,Nor think what we are now.'[740]Chorus'Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair,And Greta woods are green,And you may gather garlands thereWould grace a summer-queen.'
To A LOCK OF HAIR
¶THY hue, dear pledge, is pure and brightAs in that well-remember'd nightWhen first thy mystic braid was wove,And first my Agnes whisper'd love.
¶Since then how often hast thou prestThe torrid zone of this wild breast,Whose wrath and hate have sworn to dwellWith the first sin that peopled hell;A breast whose blood's a troubled ocean,Each throb the earthquake's wild commotion!0 if such clime thou canst endureYet keep thy hue unstain'd and pure,What conquest o'er each erring thoughtOf that fierce realm had Agnes wrought!I had not wander'd far and wideWith such an angel for my guide;Nor heaven nor earth could then reprove meIf she had lived and lived to love me.
¶Not then this world's wild joys had beenTo me one savage hunting scene,My sole delight the headlong raceAnd frantic hurry of the chase;To start, pursue, and bring to bay,Rush in, drag down, and rend my prey,Then—from the carcass turn away!Mine ireful mood had sweetness tamed,And soothed each wound which pride inflamed:—Yes, God and man might now approve meIf thou hadst lived and lived to love me!
Jock of Hazeldean
¶WHY weep ye by the tide, ladie?Why weep ye by the tide?I'll wed ye to my youngest son,And ye sail be his bride:And ye sail be his bride, ladie,Sae comely to be seen'—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 ErringtonAnd 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 sail 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 Hazeldean.
¶The kirk was deck'd at morning-tide,The tapers glimmer'd 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.
Eleu Loro
¶WHERE shall the lover restWhom the fates severFrom his true maiden's breastParted for ever?Where, through groves deep and highSounds the far billow,Where early violets dieUnder the willow.Eleu loroSoft shall be his pillow.
¶There through the summer dayCool streams are laving:There, while the tempests sway,Scarce are boughs waving;There thy rest shalt thou take,Parted for ever,Never again to wakeNever, O never!Eleu loroNever, O never!
¶Where shall the traitor rest,He, the deceiver,Who could win maiden's breast,Ruin, and leave her?In the lost battle,Borne down by the flying,Where mingles war's rattleWith groans of the dying;Eleu loroThere shall he be lying.
¶Her wing shall the eagle flapO'er the falsehearted;His warm blood the wolf shall lapEre life be parted.Shame and dishonour sit[743]By his grave ever;Blessing shall hallow itNever, O never!Eleu loroNever, O never!
A Serenade
¶AH! County Guy, the hour is nighThe sun has left the lea,The orange-flower perfumes the bower,The breeze is on the sea.The lark, his lay who trill'd all day,Sits hush'd his partner nigh;Breeze, bird, and flower confess the hour,But where is County Guy?
¶The village maid steals through the shadeHer shepherd's suit to hear;To Beauty shy, by lattice high,Sings high-born Cavalier.The star of Love, all stars above,Now reigns o'er earth and sky,And high and low the influence know—But where is County Guy?
The Rover
¶A WEARY lot is thine, fair maid,A weary lot is thine!To pull the thorn thy brow to braid,And press the rue for wine.A lightsome eye, a soldier's mienA feather of the blue,A doublet of the Lincoln green—No more of me you knewMy Love!No more of me you knew.
¶'This morn is merry June, I trow,The rose is budding fain;But she shall bloom in winter snow[744]Ere we two meet again.'He turn'd his charger as he spakeUpon the river shore,He gave the bridle-reins a shake,Said 'Adieu for evermoreMy Love!And adieu for evermore.'
The Maid of Neidpath
¶O LOVERS' eyes are sharp to see,And lovers' ears in hearing;And love, in life's extremity,Can lend an hour of cheering.Disease had been in Mary's bowerAnd slow decay from mourning,Though now she sits on Neidpath's towerTo watch her Love's returning.
¶All sunk and dim her eyes so bright,Her form decay'd by pining,Till through her wasted hand, at night,You saw the taper shining.By fits a sultry hectic hueAcross her cheek was flying;By fits so ashy pale she grewHer maidens thought her dying.
¶Yet keenest powers to see and hearSeem'd in her frame residing;Before the watch-dog prick'd his earShe heard her lover's riding;Ere scarce a distant form was kenn'dShe knew and waved to greet him,And o'er the battlement did bendAs on the wing to meet him.
¶He came—he pass'd—an heedless gazeAs o'er some stranger glancing:Her welcome, spoke in faltering phrase,Lost in his courser's prancing—[745]The castle-arch, whose hollow toneReturns each whisper spoken,Could scarcely catch the feeble moanWhich told her heart was broken.
Gathering Song of Donald the Black
¶Pibroch of Donuil DhuPibroch of DonuilWake thy wild voice anew,Summon Clan Conuil!Come away, come away,Hark to the summons!Come in your war-array,Gentles and commons.
¶Come from deep glen, andFrom mountain so rocky;The war-pipe and pennonAre at Inverlocky.Come every hill-plaid, andTrue heart that wears one,Come every steel blade, andStrong hand that bears one.
¶Leave untended the herd,The flock without shelter;Leave the corpse uninterr'd,The bride at the altar;Leave the deer, leave the steer,Leave nets and barges:Come with your fighting gear,Broadswords and targes.
¶Come as the winds come, whenForests are rended,Come as the waves come, whenNavies are stranded:Faster come, faster come,Faster and faster,Chief, vassal, page and groom,Tenant and master![746]Fast they come, fast they come;See how they gather!Wide waves the eagle plumeBlended with heather.Cast your plaids, draw your blades,Forward each man set!Pibroch of Donuil DhuKnell for the onset!
Border Ballad
¶MARCH, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale,Why the deil dinna ye march forward in order!March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale,All the Blue Bonnets are bound for the Border.Many a banner spread,Flutters above your head,Many a crest that is famous in story.Mount and make ready then,Sons of the mountain glen,Fight for the Queen and our old Scottish glory.
¶Come from the hills where your hirsels are grazing,Come from the glen of the buck and the roe;Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing,Come with the buckler, the lance, and the bow.Trumpets are sounding,War-steeds are bounding,Stand to your arms, then, and march in good order;England shall many a dayTell of the bloody fray,When the Blue Bonnets came over the Border.
The Pride of Youth
¶PROUD Maisie is in the wood,
¶'Tell me, thou bonny bird,When shall I marry me?'[747]—'When six braw gentlemenKirkward shall carry ye.'
¶'The glowworm o'er grave and stoneShall light thee steady;The owl from the steeple sing,Welcome, proud lady.'
Cor on Ach
¶HE is gone on the mountain,He is lost to the forest,Like a summer-dried fountain,When our need was the sorest.The font reappearingFrom the raindrops shall borrow,But to us comes no cheering,To Duncan no morrow!
¶The hand of the reaperTakes the ears that are hoary,But the voice of the weeperWails manhood in glory.The autumn winds rushingWaft the leaves that are serest,But our flower was in flushingWhen blighting was nearest.
¶Fleet foot on the correi,Sage counsel in cumber,Red hand in the foray,How sound is thy slumber!Like the dew on the mountain,Like the foam on the riverLike the bubble on the fountain,Thou art gone, and for ever.
Lucy Ashton's Song
¶LOOK not thou on beauty's charming;Sit thou still when kings are arming;Taste not when the wine-cup glistens;Speak not when the people listens;Stop thine ear against the singer;From the red gold keep thy finger;Vacant heart and hand and eye,Easy live and quiet die.
Answer
¶SOUND, sound the clarion, fill the fife!To all the sensual world proclaim,One crowded hour of glorious lifeIs worth an age without a name.
Rosabelle
¶O LISTEN, listen, ladies gay!No haughty feat of arms I tell;Soft is the note, and sad the layThat mourns the lovely Rosabelle.
¶'Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew!And, gentle lady, deign to stay!Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch,Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day.
¶'The blackening wave is edged with white;To inch and rock the sea-mews fly;The fishers have heard the Water-Sprite,Whose screams forebode that wreck is nigh.
¶'Last night the gifted Seer did viewA wet shroud swathed round lady gay;Then stay thee, Fair, in Ravensheuch;Why cross the gloomy firth to-day?'[749]'Tis not because Lord Lindesay's heirTonight at Roslin leads the ball,But that my lady-mother thereSits lonely in her castle-hall.
¶'Tis not because the ring they ride,And Lindesay at the ring rides well,But that my sire the wine will chideIf 'tis not fill'd by Rosabelle.'
¶—O'er Roslin all that dreary nightA wondrous blaze was seen to gleam;'Twas broader than the watch-fire's light,And redder than the bright moonbeam.
¶It glared on Roslin's castled rock,It ruddied all the copse-wood glen;'Twas seen from Dryden's groves of oak,And seen from cavern'd Hawthornden.
¶Seem'd all on fire that chapel proudWhere Roslin's chiefs uncofEn'd lie,Each Baron, for a sable shroud,Sheathed in his iron panoply.
¶Seem'd all on fire within, around,Deep sacristy and altar's pale;Shone every pillar foliage-bound,And glimmer'd all the dead men's mail.
¶Blazed battlement and pinnet high,Blazed every rose-carved buttress fair—So still they blaze, when fate is nighThe lordly line of high Saint Clair.
¶There are twenty of Roslin's barons boldLie buried within that proud chapelle;Each one the holy vault doth holdBut the sea holds lovely Rosabelle![750]And each Saint Clair was buried thereWith candle, with book, and with knell;But the sea-caves rung, and the wild winds sungThe dirge of lovely Rosabelle.
Hunting Song
¶WAICEN, lords and ladies gay,On the mountain dawns the day;All the jolly chase is hereWith hawk and horse and hunting-spear;Hounds are in their couples yelling,Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling,Merrily merrily mingle they,'Waken, lords and ladies gay.'
¶Waken, lords and ladies gay,The mist has left the mountain gray,Springlets in the dawn are steaming,Diamonds on the brake are gleaming;And foresters have busy beenTo track the buck in thicket green;Now we come to chant our lay'Waken, lords and ladies gay.'
¶'Waken, lords and ladies gay,To the greenwood haste away;We can show you where he lies,Fleet of foot and tall of size;We can show the marks he madeWhen 'gainst the oak his antlers fray'd;You shall see him brought to bay;'Waken, lords and ladies gay.'
¶Louder, louder chant the lay,Waken, lords and ladies gay!Tell them youth and mirth and gleeRun a course as well as we;Time, stern huntsman! who can baulk,Stanch as hound and fleet as hawk;Think of this, and rise with dayGentle lords and ladies gay!
Lochinvar
¶OH! young Lochinvar is come out of the west,Through all the wide Border his steed was the best;And save his good broadsword he weapons 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.
¶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 gateThe bride had consented, the gallant came late:For a laggard in love and a dastard in warWas 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,—'Oh! 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.
¶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,[752]And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume;And the bride-maidens whispered ' 'Twere better by farTo 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 1'She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur;They'll have fleet steeds that follow,' quoth young Lochinvar.
¶There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan;Fosters, Fen wicks, 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?
Bonny Dundee
¶To the Lords of Convention 'twas Claver'se who spoke.'Ere the King's crown shall fall there are crowns to be broke;So let each Cavalier who loves honour and me,Come follow the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can,Come saddle your horses, and call up your men;Come open the West Port and let me gang free,And it's room for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee 1'
¶Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the street,The bells are rung backward, the drums they are beat;But the Provost, douce man, said, 'J u st e'en let him be,The Gude Town is weel quit of that Deil of Dundee.'Come fill up my cup, etc.
¶As he rode down the sanctified bends of the Bow,Ilk carline was fly ting and shaking her pow;But the young plants of grace they looked couthie and slee,Thinking luck to thy bonnet, thou Bonny Dundee!Come fill up my cup, etc.[753]With sour-featured Whigs the Grass-market was crammed,As if half the West had set tryst to be hanged;There was spite in each look, there was fear in each e'e,As they watched for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee.Come fill up my cup, etc.
¶These cowls of Kilmarnock had spits and had spears,And lang-hafted gullies to kill cavaliers;But they shrunk to close-heads and the causeway was free,At the toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.Come fill up my cup, etc.
¶He spurred to the foot of the proud Castle rock,And with the gay Gordon he gallantly spoke;'Let Mons Meg and her marrows speak twa words or three,For the love of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.'Come fill up my cup, etc.
¶The Gordon demands of him which way he goes—'Where'er shall direct me the shade of Montrose!Your Grace in short space shall hear tidings of me,Or that low lies the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.Come fill up my cup, etc.
¶'There are hills beyond Pentland and lands beyond Forth,If there's lords in the Lowlands, there's chiefs in the North;There are wild Duniewassals three thousand times three,Will cry hoighl for the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.Come fill up my cup, etc.
¶'There's brass on the target of barkened bull-hide;There's steel in the scabbard that dangles beside;The brass shall be burnished, the steel shall flash free,At the toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.Come fill up my cup, etc.
¶'Away to the hills, to the caves, to the rocks—Ere I own an usurper, I'll couch with the fox;And tremble, false Whigs, in the midst of your glee,You have not seen the last of my bonnet and me!'Come fill up my cup, etc.[754]He waved his proud hand, the trumpets were blown,The ketde-drums clashed and the horsemen rode on,Till on Ravelston's cliffs and on Clermiston's leeDied 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 the men,Come open your gates, and let me gae free,For it's up with the bonnets of Bonny Dundee]
Datur Hora Quieti
¶THE sun upon the lake is low,The wild birds hush their song,The hills have evening's deepest glow,Yet Leonard tarries long.Now all whom varied toil and careFrom home and love divide,In the calm sunset may repairEach to the loved one's side.
¶The noble dame, on turret high,Who waits her gallant knight,Looks to the western beam to spyThe flash of armour bright.The village maid, with hand on browThe level ray to shade,Upon the footpath watches nowFor Colin's darkening plaid.
¶Now to their mates the wild swans row,By day they swam apart,And to the thicket wanders slowThe hind beside the hart.The woodlark at his partner's sideTwitters his closing song—All meet whom day and care divide,But Leonard tarries long!
Here'sa Health to King Charles
¶BRING the bowl which you boast,Fill it up to the brim;[755]'Tis to him we love most,And to all who love him.Brave gallants, stand up,And avaunt ye, base carles!Were there death in the cup,Here's a health to King Charles.
¶Though he wanders through dangers,Unaided, unknown,Dependent on strangers,Estranged from his own;Though 'tis under our breath,Amidst forfeits and perils,Here's to honor and faith,And a health to King Charles!
¶Let such honors aboundAs the time can afford,The knee on the ground,And the hand on the sword;But the time shall come roundWhen, 'mid Lords, Dukes, and Earls,The loud trumpet shall sound,Here's a health to King Charles!
Harp of the North, Farewell!
¶HARP of the North, farewell! The hills grow dark,On purple peaks a deeper shade descending;In twilight copse the glow-worm lights her spark,The deer, half-seen, are to the covert wending.Resume thy wizard elm! the fountain lending,And the wild breeze, thy wilder minstrelsy;Thy numbers sweet with nature's vespers blending,With distant echo from the fold and lea,And herd-boy's evening pipe, and hum of housing bee.
¶Yet, once again, farewell, thou Minstrel Harp!Yet, once again, forgive my feeble sway,And little reck I of the censure sharpMay idly cavil at an idle lay.[756]Much have I owed thy strains on life's long way,Through secret woes the world has never known,When on the weary night dawned wearier day,And bitterer was the grief devoured alone.—That I o'erlive such woes, Enchantress! is thine own.
¶Hark! as my lingering footsteps slow retire,Some spirit of the Air has waked thy string!'Tis now a seraph bold, with touch of fire,'Tis now the brush of Fairy's frolic wing.Receding now, the dying numbers ringFainter and fainter down the rugged dell;And now the mountain breezes scarcely bringA wandering witch-note of the distant spell—And now, 'tis silent all!—Enchantress, fare thee well!