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 river, Like the bubble on the fountain, Thou art gone; and for ever! _Sir W. Scott_ CCLXXIX _THE DEATH BED_ We watch'd her breathing thro' the night, Her breathing soft and low, As in her breast the wave of life Kept heaving to and fro. So silently we seem'd to speak, So slowly moved about, As we had lent her half our powers To eke her living out. Our very hopes belied our fears, Our fears our hopes belied-- We thought her dying when she slept, And sleeping when she died. For when the morn came dim and sad And chill with early showers, Her quiet eyelids closed--she had Another morn than ours. _T. Hood_ CCLXXX _AGNES_ I saw her in childhood-- A bright, gentle thing, Like the dawn of the morn, Or the dews of the spring: The daisies and hare-bells Her playmates all day; Herself as light-hearted And artless as they. I saw her again-- A fair girl of eighteen, Fresh glittering with graces Of mind and of mien. Her speech was all music; Like moonlight she shone; The envy of many, The glory of one. Years, years fleeted over-- I stood at her foot: The bud had grown blossom, The blossom was fruit. A dignified mother, Her infant she bore; And look'd, I thought, fairer Than ever before. I saw her once more-- 'Twas the day that she died; Heaven's light was around her, And God at her side; No wants to distress her, No fears to appal-- O then, I felt, then She was fairest of all! _H. F. Lyte_ CCLXXXI _ROSABELLE_ O listen, listen, ladies gay! No haughty feat of arms I tell; Soft is the note, and sad the lay That mourns the lovely Rosabelle. 'Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew! And, gentle ladye, 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 view A wet shroud swathed round ladye gay; Then stay thee, Fair, in Ravensheuch; Why cross the gloomy firth to-day?' ''Tis not because Lord Lindesay's heir To-night at Roslin leads the ball, But that my ladye-mother there Sits 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 chide If 'tis not fill'd by Rosabelle.'