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They were all knights of metal true,
Kinsmen to the bold Buccleuch. Ten of them were sheathed in steel, With belted sword, and spur on heel : They quitted not their harness bright, Neither by day, nor yet by night;
They lay down to rest,
With corslet laced,
They carved at the meal.
With gloves of steel, And they drank the red wine through the helmet
Ten squires, ten yeomen, mail-clad men,
Why do these steeds stand ready dight?
Threaten Branksome's lordly towers,
What may it be, the heavy sound
The Ladye knew it well!
And he called on the Spirit of the Fell.
RIVER SPIRIT. “ Sleep’st thou, brother?”
_ Brother, nay:
To aërial minstrelsy,
Trip it deft and merrily,
RIVER SPIRIT. “ Tears of an imprisoned maiden
Mix with my polluted stream;
Mourns beneath the moon's pale beam.
In utter darkness round the pole ;
Ill may I read their high decree!
BREATHES there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land ? Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, As home his footsteps he hath turned,
From wandering on a foreign strand ? If such there breathe, go, mark him well; For him no minstrel raptures swell; High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim; Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch, concentered all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust, from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonoured, and unsung.
O, young Lochinvar is come out of the west,
He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone,
So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall, Among bride's-men, 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?”
“I long wooed your daughter, my suit ye denied-
The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up, He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup. She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh, With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye.
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,“ Now tread we a measure !” said young Lochinvar.
So stately his form, and so lovely her face,
plume; And the bride-maidens whispered, “ 'Twere better by
far To have match'd our fair cousin with young Lochinvar."
One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, When they reached 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; They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young
There was mounting ʼmong Græmes of the Netherby
clan; Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and
they ran : There was racing, and chasing, on Cannobie Lee, But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?