Their pow'r but faintly to express, All language must despair; IN BLUE-EYED MARY, a cottage embosom'd within a deep shade, Like a rose in a desert O view the meek maid, Her aspect all sweetness, all plaintive her eye, And a bosom for which e'en a monarch might sigh; Then in neat Sunday gown see her met by the squire, All attraction her countenance, his all desire. He accosts her, she blushes, he flatters, she smiles, And soon blue-eyed Mary 's seduced by his wiles. Now with drops of contrition her pillow's wet o'er, But the fleece when once stain'd can know white ness no more, The aged folks whisper, the maidens look shy, [hate, Learns to squander; they quarrel, his love turns to And soon blue-eyed Mary is left to her fate. Still of beauty possess'd, and not yet void of shame, grown, The poor blue-eyed Mary is forc'd on the town. In a brothel next see her, trick'd out to allure, And by ruffians and drunkards oft wantonly spurn'd. While thus the barb'd arrow sinks deep in her soul, In a garret on straw faint and helpless is laid; O mark her pale cheek, see she scarce takes her breath, And lo! her blue eyes are now seal'd up in death. LOCHINVAR. [WALTER SCOTT.] O, YOUNG Lochinvar is come out of the west, He staid 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: So boldly he enter'd the Netherby hall, Among bridesinen, 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 ? Z "I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied ;- The bride kiss'd the goblet; the knight took it up, So stately his form, and so lovely her face, by far And the bride-maidens whisper'd, " 'twere better [invar," To have match'd our fair cousin with young Loch 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, Lochinvar. They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby [WILLIAM WOTY.] My temples with clusters of grapes I'll entwine, Yet why this resolve to relinquish the fair? "Tis woman whose joys every rapture impart, |