She crossed him thrice, that lady bold;
He rose beneath her hand

The fairest knight on Scottish mold,
Her brother, Ethert Brand!

Merry it is in good greenwood,

When the mavis and merle are singing, But merrier were they in Dunfermline gray, When all the bells were ringing.

Walter Scott [1771–1832]

SONG

From "Rokeby"

O BRIGNALL banks are wild and fair,
And Greta woods are green,
And you may gather garlands there

Would grace a summer-queen.

And as I rode by Dalton-Hall
Beneath the turrets high,

A Maiden on the castle-wall

Was singing merrily:

"O Brignall banks are fresh and fair,
And Greta woods are green;

I'd rather rove with Edmund there
Than reign our English queen."

"O Maiden, wouldst thou wend with me,
To leave both tower and town,
Thou first must guess what life lead we
That dwell by dale and down.
And if thou canst that riddle read,
As read full well you may,

Then to the greenwood shalt thou speed,
As blithe as Queen of May.”

Yet sung she, "Brignall banks are fair,

And Greta woods are green;

I'd rather rove with Edmund there

Than reign our English queen.

Song

"I read you, by your bugle-horn And by your palfrey good,

I read you for a Ranger sworn

To keep the king's greenwood." "A Ranger, lady, winds his horn, And 'tis at peep of light;

His blast is heard at merry morn,
And mine at dead of night."
Yet sung she, "Brignall banks are fair,
And Greta woods are gay;

I would I were with Edmund there
To reign his Queen of May!

"With burnished brand and musketoon So gallantly you come,

I read you for a bold Dragoon

That lists the tuck of drum." "I list no more the tuck of drum, No more the trumpet hear;

But when the beetle sounds his hum
My comrades take the spear.
And O! though Brignall banks be fair
And Greta woods be gay,

Yet mickle must the maiden dare

Would reign my Queen of May!

"Maiden! a nameless life I lead,
A nameless death I'll die;
The fiend, whose lantern lights the mead,
Were better mate than I!

And when I'm with my comrades met

Beneath the greenwood bough,—

What once we were we all forget,
Nor think what we are now.
Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair,
And Greta woods are green,

And you may gather garlands there
Would grace a summer queen."

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Walter Scott [1771–1832]

GLENARA

OH, heard ye yon pibroch sound sad in the gale,
Where a band cometh slowly with weeping and wail?
'Tis the Chief of Glenara laments for his dear,
And her sire, and her people, are called to her bier.

Glenara came first with the mourners and shroud;
His kinsmen they followed, but mourned not aloud:
Their plaids all their bosoms were folded around;
They marched all in silence,—they looked on the ground.

In silence they went, over mountain and moor,
To a heath, where the oak-tree grew lonely and hoar;
"Now here let us place the gray stone of her cairn:
Why speak ye no word?" said Glenara the stern.

"And tell me, I charge you, ye clan of my spouse,
Why fold ye your mantles, why cloud ye your brows?"
So spake the rude chieftain:-no answer is made,
But each mantle unfolding, a dagger displayed.

"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!"

Oh, 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,—
'Twas 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,
And the desert revealed where his lady was found;
From a rock of the ocean that beauty is borne,-
Now joy to the house of fair Ellen of Lorn!

Thomas Campbell [1777–1844]

Lord Ullin's Daughter

LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER

A CHIEFTAIN, to the Highlands bound,
Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry!
And I'll give thee a silver pound,
To row us o'er the ferry."

"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.

"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;
Should they our steps discover,
Then who will cheer my bonny bride
When they have slain her lover?”

Outspoke 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-wraith was shrieking; And in the scowl of heaven each face Grew dark as they were speaking.

But still as wilder blew the wind,
And as the night drew drearer,
Adown the glen rode armèd men,-
Their trampling sounded nearer.

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"O, haste thee, haste!" the lady cries,
"Though tempests round us gather;
I'll meet the raging of the skies,
But not an angry father."

The boat has left a stormy land,
A stormy sea before her,—
When, O, too strong for human hand,
The tempest gathered o'er her.

And still they rowed amidst the roar
Of waters fast prevailing:

Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore,--
His wrath was changed to wailing.

For sore dismayed, through storm and shade,
His child he did discover:

One lovely hand she stretched for aid,

And one was round her lover.

"Come back! come back!" he cried in grief,

"Across this stormy water:

And I'll forgive your Highland chief,

My daughter!-O my daughter!"

'Twas vain; the loud waves lashed the shore,

Return or aid preventing;

The waters wild went o'er his child,

And he was left lamenting.

Thomas Campbell [1777-1844]

"WAE'S ME FOR PRINCE CHARLIE”

A WEE bird came to our ha' door;
He warbled sweet and clearly;

And aye the o'ercome o' his sang

Was "Wae's me for Prince Charlie!"