"I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her shroud," Cried a voice from the kinsmen, all wrathful and loud “And empty that shroud and that coffin did seem: Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream!" O! pale grew the cheek of that chieftain, I ween, When the shroud was unclosed, and no lady was seen, When a voice from the kinsmen spoke louder in scorn, 'T was the youth who had loved the fair Ellen of Lorn: "I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her grief, I dreamt that her lord was a barbarous chief: On a rock of the ocean fair Ellen did seem; Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream!" In dust, low the traitor has knelt to the ground, THOMAS CAMPBELL.1 1 THOMAS CAMPBELL, born in Glasgow in 1777, graduated at the university of his native town, and made an early reputation as a poet by the publication of his Pleasures of Hope. After a journey on the Continent, where he witnessed the battle of Hohenlinden, he returned to London, where he passed the rest of his life. His prose writings, which were extensive and profitable, and gained for him a pension from the government, are now forgotten, but his lyric poetry holds a high place. He died in 1844. LOCHINVAR. O, YOUNG Lochinvar is come out of the West, He staid not for brake, and he stopped not for stone, The bride had consented, the gallant came late: 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 woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied; var." 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. So stately his form, and so lovely his face, And the bride-maidens whispered, "'T were better by far To have matched our fair cousin with young Loch in var." 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! 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 Cannobie Lee, LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER. A CHIEFTAIN, to the Highlands bound, "Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle, This dark and stormy water?" "O I'm the chief of Ulva's isle, And this Lord Ullin's daughter. 36 And fast before her father's men Three days we've fled together, For should he find us in the glen, My blood would stain the heather. "His horsemen hard behind us ride; Out spoke the hardy Highland wight, "I'll go, my chief - I'm ready: It is not for your silver bright, But for your winsome lady : "And by my word! the bonny bird In danger shall not tarry; So, though the waves are raging white, I'll row you o'er the ferry." By this the storm grew loud apace, The water wraith1 was shrieking; 1 The evil spirit of the waters And in the scowl of heaven each face But still as wilder blew the wind, "O haste thee, haste!" the lady cries, When, O! too strong for human hand, And still they row'd amidst the roar Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore, For sore dismay'd, through storm and shade, One lovely hand she stretched for aid, "Come back! come back!" he cried in grief, "Across this stormy water: And I'll forgive your Highland chief, 'T was vain; the loud waves lashed the shore, Return or aid preventing : |