For, as our different ages move,

'Tis so ordained (would Fate but mend it!) That I shall be past making love

When she begins to comprehend it.

"The gray-headed sexton

That delves the grave duly

"The glow-worm o'er grave and stone

Shall light thee steady;

The owl from the steeple sing,

'Welcome, proud lady.'"

Sir Walter Scott.

THE PASSIONATE Shepherd tO HIS LOVE 65

THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE

COME live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That hills and valleys, dales and fields,
And woods or steepy mountain yields.

And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks
By shallow rivers to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle.

A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull,
Fair-lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold.

A belt of straw and ivy-buds
With coral clasps and amber studs;
An' if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.

Thy silver dishes for thy meat
As precious as the gods do eat,
Shall on an ivory table be
Prepared each day for thee and me.

The shepherd-swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May-morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me, and be my love.

Christopher Marlowe.

THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB 1

THE Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold, And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the

sea,

When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.

Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen; Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown,

That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the

blast,

And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed; And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and

chill,

And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still.

And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, But through it there rolled not the breath of his

pride;

1 Note 8.

SIR PATRICK SPENS

67

And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.

And there lay the rider, distorted and pale,
With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail;
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal,
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!
Lord Byron.

SIR PATRICK SPENS

THE king sits in Dunfermline toun,
Drinking the blude-red wine:
"Oh, whare will I get a skeely skipper
To sail this new ship of mine?"

Oh, up and spake an eldern knight,
Sat at the king's right knee,
"Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor
That ever sailed the sea."

Our king has written a braid letter,
And sealed it with his hand,
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens,
Was walking on the strand.

"To Noroway, to Noroway,

To Noroway o'er the faem;

The king's daughter of Noroway,
'T is thou maun bring her hame."

The first word that Sir Patrick read,
Sae loud, loud laughed he;

The neist word that Sir Patrick read,
The tear blinded his e'e.

"Oh wha is this has done this deed, And tauld the king o' me,

To send us out, at this time of the year,

"Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet, Our ship must sail the faem;

The king's daughter of Noroway,

'Tis we must fetch her hame."

They hoysed their sails on Monenday morn,

Wi' a' the speed they may;

And they hae landed in Noroway

Upon a Wedensday.

They hadna been a week, a week

In Noroway but twae,

When that the lords o' Noroway

Began aloud to say:

"Ye Scottishmen spend a' our king's gowd,

And a' our queenis fee."

"Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud!

Fu' loud I hear ye lie!