And with the King to make accord,
Had sent his lovely dame.
Nor to that lady free alone
Did the gay King allegiance own;
For the fair Queen of France

Sent him a Turquois ring, and glove,

And charged him, as her knight and love,
For her to break a lance;

And strike three strokes with Scottish brand,
And march three miles on Southron land,
And bid the banners of his band

In English breezes dance.

And thus, for France's Queen, he drest
His manly limbs in mailèd vest;

And thus admitted English fair,

His inmost counsels still to share;

And thus, for both, he madly planned
The ruin of himself and land!

And yet, the sooth to tell,

Nor England's fair, nor France's Queen,
Were worth one pearl-drop, bright and sheen,
From Margaret's eyes that fell,—

His own Queen Margaret, who, in Lithgow's
bower,

All lonely sat, and wept the weary hour.

XI.

The Queen sits lone in Lithgow pile,
And weeps the weary day,

The war against her native soil,
Her monarch's risk in battle broil:-
And in gay Holy-Rood, the while,
Dame Heron rises with a smile.

Upon the harp to play.

Fair was her rounded arm, as o'er

The strings her fingers flew :

And as she touched and tuned them all,
Even her bosom's rise and fall

Was plainer given to view;

For all, for heat, was laid aside,
Her wimple, and her hood untied.

And first she pitched her voice to sing

Then glanced her dark eye on the King,
And then around the silent ring;

And laughed, and blushed, and oft did say
Her pretty oath, by Yea, and Nay,
She could not, would not, durst not play!
At length, upon the harp, with glee,
Mingled with arch simplicity,
A soft, yet lively, air she rung,
While thus the wily lady sung.

XII.

LOCHIN VAR.

Lady Heron's Song

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 weapon 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 am I 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."

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,
When they reached 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!