English

MARY:

Margery, my dear,
Margery Mackintosh,

'Tis a year this week
since thou wert wedded;

Then to thine homestead
went the great folk,

Mackenzie went there,
and MacLeod,

Mackinnon went there,
and MacDonald.

MACDONALD'S LADY:

Listen, Mary,
hide not this from me:

What is yon ship
off the coastland?

MARY:

Plague on thine asking!
why should I hide it?

Dear Tyrant, for one moment set me free,
I faint, I weary of my constant ache,
Thy presence in thine absence seems to make
A harder bondage of my heart to thee;
Let me forget thee for an hour, and see
Across the east a peaceful sunrise break,
Shot with no flames enkindled for thy sake,
Bearing no pleasant pains from thee to me,
Let me forget — that like the wave of light
That floods the watcher who hath dozed at dawn,
The memory of thy mouth and hands and eyes
May rush upon me with a new delight,

Jesus! to thy celestial light,
My dawn of hope I owe;
Once wand'ring in the shades of night,
And lost in helpless wo.

Thy gracious hand redeem'd the slave,
And set the pris'ner free;
Be all I am — and all I have,
Devoted, Lord! to thee.

Here at thy feet I wait thy will,
And live upon thy word;
Oh! give me warmer love and zeal,
To serve my dearest Lord.

Before his Lion Court,
Keen for the tourney's sport,
King Francis sat on a day.
Around were the mighty ones of the land,
And up in a balcony, close at hand,
The ladies in bright array.

And as with his finger a sign he made,
Wide opened the gates in the palisade;
A lion is seen
With stately mien.
He glares around,
But makes no sound;
He yawns disdain,
And shakes his mane,
And stretching once more,
Lies down on the floor.

Another sign is made by the King

Sweet songs of nightingale and lark
That greet the golden dawn,
Or twilight deepening into dark,
By mountain, grove, or lawn;
Long days, clear nights, and balmy winds,
Fresh flowers and forest leaves,
Birds, blossoms, fruits of ruddy rinds,
New hay, and barley sheaves;
All joys of nature, sounds or sights
Of forest, stream, or plain,
Ye're welcome, welcome, welcome ever,
And welcome back again.

Fair hopes, forgotten 'mid our toils;
Sweet visions dreamed of yore,

Give me the man, however old and staid,
Or worn with sorrow and perplexity,
Who, when he walks in sunshine or in shade,
By woodland bowers, or bare beach of the sea,
O'er hill-top, or in valleys green with me,
Throws off his age, and gambols like a child,
And finds a boyish pleasure in the wild,
Rejuvenescent on the flowery lea:
Him shall the years press lightly as he goes;
The kindly wisdom gathered in the fields
Shall be his antidote to worldly woes;
And the o'erflowing joy that nature yields

‘Wilt thou run to me for ever?’
Said the ocean to the river.
‘Will ye ever fall on my hills and plains?’
Said the dry land to the rains.
‘Will ye ever blossom while I sing?’
Said the lark to the flowers of spring.
‘Will ye ever ripen while I shine?’
Said the sun to the corn and vine.
And ever the answer the breezes bore
Was, ‘ Evermore—for Evermore .’

‘As long as all these things shall be,’
Said I, to Rosa kissing me,
‘Shall Truth be sharper than a sword?
Shall kindness be its own reward?

" A true sister's love, Sir Knight —
That thou mayst attain;
But no other love invite,
For 'twould cause me pain.
I would see thee calm draw near,
Calm depart as well.
In thine eye I mark a tear: —
Why, I can not tell. "

And he hears in dumb distress,
But can scarcely heed;
And with one intense caress
Leaps upon his steed.
At his rigorous behest
All his Switzers come,
Bound (the cross on every breast)
To the holy tomb.

There are feats of derring-do
Wrought by heroes' arms;

I was fashioned long ago
In an element of snow,
And a white pair of cold wings
Bore me towards sublunar things;
Over thought's immense dominions,
Floating on these chilly pinions,
Long I wandered, faint and thin
As a leaf the wind may spin,
And the tossing, flashing sea
Moaned and whispered under me,
And the mountains of man's mind
Threw short shadows far behind,
And the rivers of the soul
That still thunder as they roll,
At my cold height streamed and fled
Silent as a glacier-bed.

A LEGEND OF HAVERING .

King Edward dwelt at Havering-atte-Bower—
Old, and enfeebled by the weight of power—
Sick of the troublous majesty of kings—
Weary of duty and all mortal things—
Weary of day—weary of night—forlorn—
Cursing, like Job, the hour that he was born,
Thick woods environed him, and in their shade
He roamed all day, and told his beads, and prayed.
Men's faces pained him, and he barred his door
That none might find him;—even the sunshine bore