Then bear my corse, my comrades! bear,

This bridegroom blithe to meet;

He in his wedding trim so gay,
I in my winding sheet."

She spoke; she died. Her corpse was borne

The bridegroom blithe to meet;

He in his wedding trim so gay,

She in her winding sheet.

Q Q

Then what were perjured Colin's thoughts?

How were these nuptials kept?

The bridesmen flock'd round Lucy dead,

And all the village wept.

Confusion, shame, remorse, despair,

At once his bosom swell;

The damps of death bedew'd his brow;

He shook, he groan'd, he fell.

From the vain bride, ah! bride no more!

The varying crimson fled,

When stretch'd before her rival's corpse

She saw her husband dead.

Then to his Lucy's new-made grave
Convey'd by trembling swains,
One mould with her, beneath one sod,

For ever he remains.

Oft at this grave the constant hind

And plighted maid are seen;
With garlands gay and true-love knots
They deck the sacred green.

But, swain forsworn! whoe'er thou art,
This hallow'd spot forbear;

Remember Colin's dreadful fate,

And fear to meet him there.

HAWKING.

From The Chase."

BY WILLIAM SOMERVILLE.

[WILLIAM SOMERVILLE was born in the year 1692, at the family seat at Edstone, in Warwickshire. He was educated at Winchester School, and afterwards at New College, Oxford. He passed the chief part of his life at the residence of his ancestors, and occupied himself with the duties of a country magistrate, the active life of a keen sportsman, and the cultivation of his poetic talents.

Somerville's "Chase" has always been a favourite with lovers of country life, and has often been reprinted.]

NEXT will I sing the valiant falcon's fame :
Aërial fights, where no confed'rate brute
Joins in the bloody fray; but bird with bird
Justs in mid-air. Lo! at his siege the hern,
Upon the bank of some small purling brook,
Observant stands to take his scaly prize,
Himself another's game. For mark behind
The wily falconer creeps: his grazing horse.
Conceals the treacherous foe, and on his fist
Th' unhooded falcon sits: with eager eyes
She meditates her prey, and, in her wild
Conceit, already plumes the dying bird.
Up springs the hern, redoubling every stroke,
Conscious of danger, stretches far away,

With busy pennons and projected beak,
Piercing th' opponent clouds: the falcon swift
Follows at speed, mounts as he mounts, for hope

Gives vigour to her wings. Another soon

Strains after to support the bold attack,

Warm grows the conflict, every nerve 's employ'd;
Now through the yielding element they soar
Aspiring high, then sink at once, and rove
In trackless mazes through the troubled sky.
No rest, no peace. The falcon hovering flies.
Balanced in air, and confidently bold

Hangs o'er him like a cloud, then aims her blow
Full at his destined head. The watchful hern
Shoots from her like a blazing meteor swift
That gilds the night, eludes her talons keen
And pointed beak, and gains a length of way.
Observe th' attentive crowd; all hearts are fix'd
On this important war, and pleasing hope
Glows in each breast. The vulgar and the great,
Equally happy now, with freedom share
The common joy. The shepherd-boy forgets
His bleating care; the labouring hind lets fall
His grain unsown; in transport lost, he robs
Th' expecting furrow, and in wild amaze
The gazing village point their eyes to heaven.
Where is the tongue can speak the falconer's cares
'Twixt hopes and fears, as in a tempest tost?
His fluttering heart, his varying cheeks confess