AS LORDS THEIR LABOURERS' HIRE DELAY From Redgauntlet As lords their labourers' hire delay, Fate quits our toil with hopes to come, Still owns a debt and names a sum. Quit not the pledge, frail sufferer, then, SONG From The Betrothed THE TRUTH OF WOMAN WOMAN'S faith, and woman's trust- Stamp them on the running stream, Than the thing those letters mean. I have strain'd the spider's thread I told my true love of the token, How her faith proved light, and her word was broken : Again her word and truth she plight, And I believed them again ere night. ONE HOUR WITH THEE Song of Charles II. in Woodstock An hour with thee !-When earliest day One hour with thee! One hour with thee !-When burning June What shall repay the faithful swain And, more than cave or sheltering bough, Cool feverish blood, and throbbing brow ?— One hour with thee! One hour with thee!-When sun is set, The increasing wants and lessening gains, The master's pride who scorns my pains?—— One hour with thee! SONG From Quentin Durward COUNTY GUY АH! County Guy, the hour is nigh, The orange flower perfumes the bower, The lark, his lay who thrill'd all day, Sits hush'd his partner nigh; Breeze, bird, and flower, confess the hour, But where is County Guy? The village maid steals through the shade, To beauty shy, by lattice high, The star of Love, all stars above, Now reigns o'er earth and sky; THE LAY OF POOR LOUISE From The Fair Maid of Perth Ан, poor Louise! The livelong day Think on Louise. Ah, poor Louise! The sun was high, Ah, poor Louise! The savage bear Ah, poor Louise! In woody wold To poor Louise. Ah, poor Louise! Small cause to pine Ah, poor Louise. Ah, poor Louise! Thy treasure's reft ! I know not if by force or theft, Or part by violence, part by gift; But misery is all that's left To poor Louise. Let poor Louise some succour have! YES, THOU MAYEST SIGH From The Fair Maid of Perth YES, thou mayest sigh, And look once more at all around, At stream and bank, and sky and ground, Thy life its final course has found, And thou must die. Yes, lay thee down, And while thy struggling pulses flutter, Bid the grey monk his soul mass mutter, And the deep bell its death-tone utterThy life is gone. Be not afraid. 'Tis but a pang and then a thrill, A fever fit, and then a chill; And then an end of human ill, For thou art dead. HUNTING SONG * WAKEN, lords and ladies gay, With hawk, and horse, and hunting-spear! 'Waken, lords and ladies gay." Waken, lords and ladies gay, The mist has left the mountain grey, To track the buck in thicket green; Waken, lords and ladies gay, Louder, louder, chant the lay, Time, stern huntsman ! who can baulk, Stanch as hound, and fleet as hawk: Think of this, and rise with day, |