AS LORDS THEIR LABOURERS' HIRE DELAY

From Redgauntlet

As lords their labourers' hire delay,

Fate quits our toil with hopes to come,
Which, if far short of present pay,

Still owns a debt and names a sum.

Quit not the pledge, frail sufferer, then,
Although a distant date be given;
Despair is treason towards man,
And blasphemy to Heaven.

SONG

From The Betrothed

THE TRUTH OF WOMAN

WOMAN'S faith, and woman's trust-
Write the characters in dust;

Stamp them on the running stream,
Print them on the moon's pale beam,
And each evanescent letter
Shall be clearer, firmer, better,
And more permanent, I ween,

Than the thing those letters mean.

I have strain'd the spider's thread
'Gainst the promise of a maid;
I have weigh'd a grain of sand
'Gainst her plight of heart and hand;

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
Dapples with gold the eastern grey,
Oh, what can frame my mind to bear
The toil and turmoil, cark and care,
New griefs, which coming hours unfold
And sad remembrance of the old ?

One hour with thee!

One hour with thee !-When burning June
Waves his red flag at pitch of noon,

What shall repay the faithful swain
His labour on the sultry plain,

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,
O, what can teach me to forget
The thankless labours of the day;
The hopes, the wishes, flung away;

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 sun has left the lea,

The orange flower perfumes the bower,
The breeze is on the sea.

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,
Her shepherd's suit to hear;

To beauty shy, by lattice high,
Sings high-born Cavalier.

The star of Love, all stars above,

Now reigns o'er earth and sky;
And high and low the influence know-
But where is County Guy!

THE LAY OF POOR LOUISE

From The Fair Maid of Perth

Ан, poor Louise! The livelong day
She roams from cot to castle gay;
And still her voice and viol say,
Ah, maids, beware the woodland way,

Think on Louise.

Ah, poor Louise! The sun was high,
It smirch'd her cheek, it dimm'd her eye.
The woodland walk was cool and nigh,
Where birds with chiming streamlets vie
To cheer Louise.

Ah, poor Louise! The savage bear
Made ne'er that lovely grove his lair;
The wolves molest not paths so fair-
But better far had such been there
For poor Louise.

Ah, poor Louise! In woody wold
She met a huntsman fair and bold;
His baldric was of silk and gold,
And many a witching tale he told

To poor Louise.

Ah, poor Louise! Small cause to pine
Hadst thou for treasures of the mine;
For peace of mind, that gift divine,
And spotless innocence, were thine,

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!
She will not long your bounty crave,
Or tire the gay with warning stave-
For Heaven has grace, and earth a grave
For poor Louise.

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,
On the mountain dawns the day,
All the jolly chase is here,

With hawk, and horse, and hunting-spear!
Hounds are in their couples yelling,
Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling,
Merrily, merrily, mingle they,

'Waken, lords and ladies gay."

Waken, lords and ladies gay,

The mist has left the mountain grey,
Springlets in the dawn are steaming,
Diamonds on the brake are gleaming:
And foresters have busy been,

To track the buck in thicket green;
Now we come to chant our lay,

Waken, lords and ladies gay,
To the greenwood haste away;
We can show you where he lies,
Fleet of foot, and tall of size ;
We can show the marks he made,
When 'gainst the oak his antlers fray'd;
You shall see him brought to bay,
"Waken, lords and ladies gay."

Louder, louder, chant the lay,
Waken, lords and ladies gay!
Tell them youth, and mirth, and glee,
Run a course as well as we;

Time, stern huntsman ! who can baulk,

Stanch as hound, and fleet as hawk:

Think of this, and rise with day,
Gentle lords and ladies gay.