'But they are dead: those two are dead! Their spirits are in heaven!' 'Twas throwing words away: for still The little maid would have her will, And said, 'Nay, we are seven!' SHE DWELT AMONG UNTRODDEN WAYS SHE dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A Maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love: A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye! Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky. She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be; But she is in her grave, and oh, The difference to me! I TRAVELLED AMONG UNKNOWN MEN I TRAVELL'D among unknown men, In lands beyond the sea; Nor, England! did I know till then What love I bore to thee. 'Tis past, the melancholy dream! Nor will I quit thy shore A second time; for still I seem To love thee more and more. Among thy mountains did I feel The joy of my desire; And she I cherish'd turn'd her wheel Beside an English fire. Thy mornings show'd, thy nights conceal'd, The bowers where Lucy play'd; And thine too is the last green field That Lucy's eyes survey'd. _SIR WALTER SCOTT_ LOCHINVAR O, YOUNG Lochinvar is come out of the west, Through all the wide Border his steed was the best, And save his good broad-sword 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 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 bride's-men 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 I am 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, 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.'