The bride kiss'd the goblet: the knight took it up, He quaff'd off the wine, and he threw down the cup. She look'd down to blush, and she look'd 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 whisper'd, "'Twere better by far, To have match'd our fair cousin with young Lochinvar." One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, When they reach'd 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! "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 Græmes of the Netherby clan; Forsters, Fenwicks, 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? ----W. Scott. ALICE BRAND [Illustration: 9086] |Merry it is in the good greenwood, Where the mavis and merle are singing, When the deer sweeps by, and the hounds are in cry, And the hunters horn is ringing. "O Alice Brand, my native land Is lost for love of you; And we must hold by wood and wold, As outlaws wont to do. "O Alice, 'twas all for thy locks so bright, And 'twas all for thine eyes so blue, That on the night of our luckless flight, Thy brother bold I slew. "Now must I teach to hew the beech The hand that held the glaive, For leaves to spread our lowly bed, And stakes to fence our cave. "And for vest of pall, thy fingers small, That wont on harp to stray, A cloak must shear from the slaughter'd deer, To keep the cold away."-- "O Richard! if my brother died, 'Twas but a fatal chance; For darkling was the battle tried, And fortune sped the lance. "If pall and vair no more I wear, Nor thou the crimson sheen, As warm, we'll say, is the russet grey, As gay the forest green. "And, Richard, if our lot be hard, And lost thy native land, Still Alice has her own Richard, And he his Alice Brand." 'Tis merry,'tis merry, in good greenwood, So blithe Lady Alice is singing; On the beech's pride, and oak's brown side, Lord Richard's axe is ringing. Up spoke the moody Elfin King, Who wonn'd within the hill,-- Like wind in the porch of a ruin'd church, His voice was ghostly shrill: "Why sounds yon stroke on beech and oak, Our moonlight circle's screen? Or who comes here to chase the deer, Beloved of our Elfin Queen?