But was she, too, a phantom, the Maid who stood by,
And listed my lay, while she turn'd from mine eye?
Was she, too, a vision, just glancing to view,
Then dispersed in the sunbeam, or melted to dew?
Oh! would it had been so,-Oh! would that her eye
Had been but a star-glance that shot through the
sky,

And her voice that was moulded to melody's thrill,
Had been but a zephyr, that sigh'd and was still!

Oh! would it had been so,-not then this poor heart
Had learn'd the sad lesson, to love and to part;
To bear, unassisted, its burthen of care,
While I toil'd for the wealth I had no one to share.
Not then had I said, when life's summer was done,
And the hours of her autumn were fast speeding on,

Jock of Hazeldean.

AIR-A Border Melody.

1816.

The first stanza of this Ballad is ancient. The others were written for Mr. Campbell's Albyn's Anthology.

I.

"WHY weep ye by the tide, ladie? Why weep ye by the tide ?

I'll wed ye to my youngest son,
And ye sall be his bride:
And ye sall be his bride, ladie,

Sae comely to be seen But aye she loot the tears down fa' For Jock of Hazeldean.

II.

"Now let this wilfu' grief be done, And dry that cheek so pale; Young Frank is chief of Errington,

And 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.

III.

"A chain of gold ye sall 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.

IV.

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.

1 First published in Mr. G. Thomson's Collection of Irish Airs. 1816.

2 In ancient Irish poetry, the standard of Fion, or Fingal, is called the Sun-burst, an epithet feebly rendered by the Sunbeam of Macpherson.

where that beautiful lake stretches into the dusky mountains

"THE window of a turret, which projected at an angle with the wall, and thus came to be very near Lovel's apartment, was half open, and from that quarter he heard again the same music which had probably broken short his dream. With its visionary character it had lost much of its charms-it was now nothing more than an air on the harpsicord, tolerably well performed-such is the caprice of imagination as affecting the fine arts. A female voice sung, with some taste and great simplicity, something between a song and a hymn, in words to the following effect :"

"WHY sit'st thou by that ruin'd hall, Thou aged carle so stern and grey?

Dost thou its former pride recal,

Or ponder how it pass'd away?"—

"Know'st thou not me?" the Deep Voice cried; "So long enjoy'd, so oft misusedAlternate, in thy fickle pride,

Desired, neglected, and accused!

"Before my breath, like blazing flax, Man and his marvels pass away! And changing empires wane and wax, Are founded, flourish, and decay.

1 Mr., afterwards Sir William Arbuthnot, the Lord Provost of Edinburgh, who had the honour to entertain the GrandDuke, now Emperor of Russia, was a personal friend of Sir

(3.)-ELSPETH'S BALLAD.

"As the Antiquary lifted the latch of the hut, he was surprised to hear the shrill tremulous voice of Elspeth chanting forth an old ballad in a wild and doleful recitative:"

THE herring loves the merry moon-light, The mackerel loves the wind,

But the oyster loves the dredging sang, For they come of a gentle kind.

Now haud your tongue, baith wife and carle,
And listen great and sma',

And I will sing of Glenallan's Earl
That fought on the red Harlaw.

The cronach's cried on Bennachie,
And doun the Don and a',

And hieland and lawland may mournfu' be
For the sair field of Harlaw.-

They saddled a hundred milk-white steeds,
They hae bridled a hundred black,
With a chafron of steel on each horse's head,
And a good knight upon his back.

They hadna ridden a mile, a mile,
A mile, but barely ten,

Walter Scott's; and these Verses, with their heading, are now
given from the newspapers of 1816.
2 T

When Donald came branking down the brae Wi' twenty thousand men.

Their tartans they were waving wide, Their glaives were glancing clear, The pibrochs rung frae side to side, Would deafen ye to hear.

The great Earl in his stirrups stood,

That Highland host to see:

"Now here a knight that 's stout and good May prove a jeopardie:

"What would'st thou do, my squire so gay,
That rides beside my reyne,-
Were ye Glenallan's Earl the day,
And I were Roland Cheyne?

"To turn the rein were sin and shame,
To fight were wond'rous peril,—
What would ye do now, Roland Cheyne,
Were ye Glenallan's Earl ?"-

"Were I Glenallan's Earl this tide, And ye were Roland Cheyne, The

spear should be in my horse's side, And the bridle upon his mane.

"If they hae twenty thousand blades,
And we twice ten times ten,
Yet they hae but their tartan plaids,
And we are mail-clad men.

"My horse shall ride through ranks sae rude,
As through the moorland fern,—
Then ne'er let the gentle Norman blude
Grow cauld for Highland kerne."

He turn'd him right and round again,
Said, Scorn na at my mither;
Light loves I may get mony a ane,
But minnie ne'er anither.

Chap. xl.

MOTTOES IN THE ANTIQUARY.

"THE scraps of poetry which have been in most cases tacked to the beginning of chapters in these Novels, are sometimes quoted either from reading or from memory, but, in the general case, are pure invention. I found it too troublesome to turn to the collection of the British Poets to discover apposite mottoes, and, in the situation of the theatrical mechanist, who, when the white paper which represented his shower of snow was exhausted, continued the shower by snowing brown, I drew on my memory as long as I could, and when that

1.

I knew Anselmo. He was shrewd and prudent,
Wisdom and cunning had their shares of him;
But he was shrewish as a wayward child,
And pleased again by toys which childhood please;
As-book of fables graced with print of wood,
Or else the jingling of a rusty medal,
Or the rare melody of some old ditty,
That first was sung to please King Pepin's cradle.

(2.)-CHAP. IX.

"Be brave," she cried," you yet may be our guest.
Our haunted room was ever held the best:
If, then, your valour can the fight sustain
Of rustling curtains, and the clinking chain;
If your courageous tongue have powers to talk,
When round your bed the horrid ghost shall walk,
If you dare ask it why it leaves its tomb,
I'll see your sheets well air'd, and show the room.'
True Storn

(3.)-CHAP. XI.

Sometimes he thinks that Heaven this vision sent, And order'd all the pageants as they went; Sometimes that only 'twas wild Fancy's play,The loose and scatter'd relics of the day.

(4.)-CHAP. XII.

Beggar!-the only freemen of your Commonwealth Free above Scot-free, that observe no laws,

Obey no governor, use no religion

But what they draw from their own ancient customs Or constitute themselves, yet they are no rebels. Brome.

(5.)—CHAP. XIX.