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Then steep thy words in wine and milk, We'll sing while we bait, and we'll sing while we haul,
For the deeps of the Haaf have enougo for us all :
And there's wealth for bold Magnus, the son of the
(9.)-CLAUD HALCRO'S VERSES.
And you shall deal the funeral dole;
Ay, deal it, mother mine,
The white bread and the wine.
(10.)-NORNA'S INCANTATIONS. CHAMPION, famed for warlike toil, Art thou silent, Ribolt Troil ? Sand, and dust, and pebbly stones, Are leaving bare thy giant bones. Who dared touch the wild bear's skin Ye slumber'd on, while life was in ? A woman now, or babe, may come And cast the covering from thy tomb.
And you shall deal my horses of pride;
Ay, deal them, mother mine; And
you shall deal my lands so wide, And deal my castles nine.
But deal not vengeance for the deed,
And deal not for the crime; Tho body to its place, and the soul to Heaven's
grace, And the rest in God's owu time.
Yet be not wrathful, Chief, nor blight
Saint Magnus control thee, that martyr of treason; Saint Ronan rebuke thee, with rhyme and with
reason; By the mass of Saint Martin, the might of Saint
Mary, Be thou gone, or thy weird shall be worse if thou
tarry! If of good, go hence and hallow thee;If of ill, let the earth swallow thee;If thou’rt of air, let the grey mist fold thee;If of earth, let the swart mine hold thee;If a Pixie, seek thy ring ;If a Nixie, seek thy spring ;If on middle earth thou'st been Slave of sorrow, shame, and sin, Hast eat the bread of toil and strife, And dree'd the lot which men call life; Begone to thy stone! for thy coffin is scant of
thee, The worm, thy play-fellow, wails for the want of
See, I draw my magic knife-
Thanks, Ribolt, thanks-for this the sea
Hence, houseless ghost! let the earth hide thee, Till Michael shall blow the blast, see that there
thou bide thee!Phantom, fly hence! take the Cross for a token, Hence pass till Hallowmass !—my spell is spoken.
She, the dame of doubt and dread,
Menseful maiden ne'er should rise,
Chap. xxiii. .
[AT INTERVIEW WITH MINNA.] Thou, so needful, yet so dread, With cloudy crest, and wing of red; Thou, without whose genial breath The North would sleep the sleep of death Who deign'st to warm the cottage hearth, Yet hurls proud palaces to earth,Brightest, keenest of the Powers, Which form and rule this world of ours,
Be patient, be patient; for Patience hath power
them, Till time shall accomplish the truths I have told them.
Thou, that over billows dark
(11.)—BRYCE SNAILSFOOT'S ADVERTISE.
She who sits by haunted well,
POOR sinners whom the snake deceives,
By ring, by spring, by cave, by shore,
(1.)-CHAP. II. 'Tis not alone the scene—the man, Anselmo, The man finds sympathies in these wild wastes,
And roughly tumbling seas, which fairer views When sweetheart shall be kind, or when cross And smoother waves deny him.
dame shall die; Ancient Drama. Where lurks the thief who stole the silver tankard,
And how the pestilent murrain may be cured ;(2.)--CHAP. VII.
This sage adviser 's mad, stark mad, my friend; She does no work by halves, yon raving ocean ; Yet, in her madness, hath the art and cunning Engulphing those she strangles, her wild womb To wring fools' secrets from their inmost bosoms, Affords the mariners whom she hath dealt on, And pay inquirers with the coin they gave her. Their death at once, and sepulchre.
Old Play. Old Play.
(8.)-CHAP. xxx. (3.)-CHAP. IX.
What bo, my jovial mates! come on! we'll frolic it This is a gentle trader, and a prudent
Like fairies frisking in the merry moonshine, He's no Autolycus, to blear your eye,
Seen by the curtal friar, who, from some christening, With qui of worldly gauds and gamesomeness; Or some blithe bridal, hies belated cell-wardBut seasons all his glittering merchandise
He starts, and changes his bold bottle swagger With wholesome doctrine suited to the use,
To churchman's pace professional,—and, ransackAs men sauce goose with sage and rosemary.
ing Old Play. His treacherous memory for some holy hymn,
Finds but the roundel of the midnight catch. (4.)– CHAP. XI.
Old Play. -All your
ancient customs, And long-descended usages, I'll change.
(9.)-CHAP. XXXII. Ye shall not eat, nor drink, nor speak, nor move, I strive like to the vessel in the tide-way, Think, look, or walk, as ye were wont to do;
Which, lacking favouring breeze, hath not the Even your marriage-beds shall know mutation;
power The bride shall have the stock, the groom the To stem the powerful current.—Even so,
Resolving daily to forsake my vices, For all old practice will I turn and change,
Habit, strong circumstance, renew'd temptation, And call it reformation--marry, will I!
Sweep me to sea again.-0 heavenly breath, '7'is Eren that we're at Odds.
Fill thou my sails, and aid the feeble vessel,
Which ne'er can reach the blessed port without (5.)-CHAP. XIV.
thee! We'll keep our customs—what is law itself,
'Tis Odds when Evens meet. But old establish'd custom? What religion, (I mean, with one-half of the men that use it,)
(10.)-CHAP. XXXUL Save the good use and wont that carries them
Parental love, my friend, has power o'er wisdom, To worship how and where their fathers wor And is the charm, which, like the falconer's lure, shipp’d?
Can bring from heaven the highest soaring spirits. All things resolve in custom-we'll keep ours. So, when famed Prosper doff”d his magic robe,
(11.)-CHAP. XXXIV. We never tread upon them but we set
Hark to the insult loud, the bitter sneer, Our foot upon some reverend history,
The fierce threat answering to the brutal jeer; And questionless, here in this open court,
Oaths fly like pistol-shots, and vengeful words (Which now lies naked to the injuries
Clash with each other like conflicting swords. Of stormy weather,) some men lie interr’d, The robber's quarrel by such sounds is shown, Loved the Church so well, and gave so largely to it, And true men have some chance to gain their own. They thought it should have canopied their bones
Captivity, a Poem. Till doomsday;—but all things have their endChurches and cities, which have diseases like to
(12.)-CHAP. XXXVII. men,
Over the mountains and under the waves, Must have like death which we have.
Over the fountains and under the graves,
Over floods that are deepest,
Which Neptune obey, (7.)-CHAP. xxix.
Over rocks that are steepest, See yonder woman, whom our swains revere,
Love will find out the way. And dread in secret, while they take her counsel
Where the forester, lated, with wonder espied me On Ettrick Forest's Mountains Dun.' Explore the wild scenes he was quitting for home
Farewell, and take with thee thy numbers wild speak
The language alternate of rapture and woe:
Oh! none but some lover, whose heart-strings are On Ettrick Forest's mountains dun,
breaking, 'Tis blithe to hear the sportsman's gun,
The pang that I feel at our parting can know. And seek the heath-frequenting brood Far through the noonday solitude;
Each joy thou couldst double, and when there came By many a cairn and trenched mound,
sorrow, Where chiefs of yore sleep lone and sound,
Or pale disappointment to darken my way, And springs, where grey-hair'd shepherds tell,
What voice was like thine, that could sing of to-morThat still the fairies love to dwell.
Till forgot in the strain was the grief of to-day ! Along the silver streams of Tweed,
But when friends drop around us in life's weary 'Tis blithe the mimic fly to lead,
waning, When to the hook the salmon springs,
The grief, Queen of Numbers, thou canst not asAnd the line whistles through the rings;
suage; The boiling eddy see him try,
Nor the gradual estrangement of those yet remaining, Then dashing from the current high,
The languor of pain, and the chillness of age. Till watchful eye and cautious hand Have led his wasted strength to land.
'Twas thou that once taught me, in accents bewailing,
To sing how a warrior lay stretch'd on the plain, 'Tis blithe along the midnight tide,
And a maiden hung o'er him with aid unavailing, With stalwart arm the boat to guide;
And held to his lips the cold goblet in vain; On high the dazzling blaze to rear,
As vain thy enchantments, 0 Queen of wild Numbers, And heedful plunge the barbed spear;
To a bard when the reign of his fancy is o'er, Rock, wood, and scaur, emerging bright,
And the quick pulse of feeling in apathy slumbersFling on the stream their ruddy light,
Farewell, then, Enchantress! I meet thee no more! And from the bank our band appears Like Genii, arm’d with fiery spears.
1 Written after a week's shooting and fishing, in which the tenanted, by the lamented death of that kind and hospitable poet had been engaged with some friends. The reader may nobleman, the author's nearest neighbour and intimate friend. see these verses set to music in Mr. Thomson's Scottish Melo- Lord S. died in February 1819. dies for 1822.
4 Ashestiel, the poet's residence at that time. 2 See the famous salmon-spearing scene in Guy Mannering. 8 Written, during illness, for Mr. Thomson's Scottish Col -Waverley Novels, vol. iii., p. 250-63.
lection, and first published in 1822, united to an air composed 3 Alwyn, the seat of the Lord Somerville ; now, alas! un by George Kinloch of Kinloch, Esq.