IT WAS AN ENGLISH LADYE BRIGHT.[74]

It was an English ladye bright (The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall), And she would marry a Scottish knight, For Love will still be lord of all.

Blithely they saw the rising sun, When he shone fair on Carlisle wall; But they were sad ere day was done, Though Love was still the lord of all.

The sire gave brooch and jewel fine, Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall; Her brother gave but a flask of wine, For ire that Love was lord of all.

For she had lands, both meadow and lea, Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall, And he swore her death, ere he would see A Scottish knight the lord of all.

That wine she had not tasted well (The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall), When dead in her true love's arms she fell, For Love was still the lord of all.

He pierced her brother to the heart, Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall-- So perish all would true love part, That Love may still be lord of all!

And then he took the cross divine (Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall), And died for her sake in Palestine, So Love was still the lord of all.

Now all ye lovers, that faithful prove, (The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall) Pray for their souls who died for love, For Love shall still be lord of all!

[74] This song appears in the sixth canto of "The Lay of the Last Minstrel." "It is the author's object in these songs," writes Lord Jeffrey, "to exemplify the different styles of ballad-narrative which prevailed in this island at different periods, or in different conditions of society. The first (the above) is conducted upon the rude and simple model of the old border ditties, and produces its effect by the direct and concise narrative of a tragical occurrence."

LOCHINVAR.[75]

Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the west, Through all the wide border his steed was the best; And save his good broadsword he weapons had none, He rode all unarm'd, and he rode all alone.

So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.

He stay'd not for brake, and he stopp'd 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 enter'd the Netherby Hall, Among bridesmen, 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) "Oh, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?"

"I long woo'd 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 kiss'd the goblet; the knight took it up, He quaff'd off the wine, and he threw down the cup; She look'd down to blush, and she look'd 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 whisper'd, "'Twere better, by far, To have match'd our fair cousin with young Lochinvar."

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, When they reach'd 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!

"She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur; They 'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar.

There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan; Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran: There was racing, and chasing, on Cann.o.bie Lea, But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see.

So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?

[75] This song occurs in the fifth canto of "Marmion." It is founded on a ballad ent.i.tled "Katharine Janfarie," in the "Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border."

WHERE SHALL THE LOVER REST.[76]

Where shall the lover rest, Whom the fates sever From his true maiden's breast, Parted for ever?

Where, through groves deep and high, Sounds the far billow; Where early violets die Under the willow.

Eleu loro, &c.

Soft shall be his pillow.

There, through the summer day, Cool streams are laving; There, while the tempests sway, Scarce are boughs waving; There, thy rest shalt thou take, Parted for ever; Never again to wake, Never, O never!

Eleu loro, &c.

Never, O never!

Where shall the traitor rest, He, the deceiver, Who could win maiden's breast, Ruin, and leave her?

In the lost battle, Borne down by the flying, Where mingle war's rattle With groans of the dying.

Eleu loro, &c.

There shall he be lying.

Her wing shall the eagle flap O'er the false-hearted; His warm blood the wolf shall lap Ere life be parted.

Shame and dishonour sit By his grave ever; Blessing shall hallow it,-- Never, O never!

Eleu loro, &c.

Never, O never!

[76] From the third canto of "Marmion."

SOLDIER, REST! THY WARFARE O'ER.[77]

Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking; Dream of battle-fields no more, Days of danger, nights of waking.

In our isle's enchanted hall, Hands unseen thy couch are strewing, Fairy strains of music fall, Every sense in slumber dewing.

Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, Dream of fighting fields no more; Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, Morn of toil, nor night of waking.

No rude sound shall reach thine ear, Armour's clang, or war-steed champing; Trump nor pibroch summon here, Mustering clan, or squadron tramping.

Yet the lark's shrill fife may come At the daybreak from the fallow; And the bittern sound his drum, Booming from the sedgy shallow.

Ruder sounds shall none be near, Guards nor wardens challenge here; Here 's no war-steed's neigh and champing, Shouting clans, or squadrons' stamping.

Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done; While our slumbrous spells a.s.sail ye, Dream not, with the rising sun, Bugles here shall sound reveille.

Sleep! the deer is in his den; Sleep! nor dream in yonder glen, How thy gallant steed lay dying.

Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done, Think not of the rising sun, For at dawning to a.s.sail ye, Here no bugles sound reveille.