The elocutionist, a collection of pieces in prose and verse [by various ...

The wind blew, the hoarse ivy shook over her head :— She listen'd;-nought else could she hear.

The wind ceased, her heart sunk in her bosom with dread, For she heard in the ruins-distinctly the tread

Of footsteps approaching her near.

Behind a wide column, half breathless with fear,
She crept, to conceal herself there;

That instant, the moon o'er a dark cloud shone clear,
And she saw in the moonlight two ruffians appear,
And between them-a corpse did they bear!

Then Mary could feel her heart-blood curdle cold!
Again the rough wind hurried by→→

It blew off the hat of the one, and behold!

Even close to the feet of poor Mary it roll❜d—
She fell-and expected to die!

"Curse the hat!"-he exclaims-" Nay, come on, and fast The dead body!" his comrade replies.

She beheld them in safety pass on by her side,
She seizes the hat, fear her courage supplied,
And fast through the Abbey she flies!

She ran with wild speed, she rush'd in at the door,
She look'd horribly eager around:

Her limbs could support their faint burden no more;
But, exhausted and breathless, she sunk on the floor,
Unable to utter a sound.

Ere yet her pale lips could the story impart,
For a moment the hat met her view-
Her eyes from that object convulsively start,

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For, Ó Heaven! what cold horror thrill'd thro' her heart, When the name of her Richard she knew!

Where the old Abbey stands, on the common hard by, His gibbet is now to be seen;

Not far from the inn it engages the eye;

The traveller beholds it, and thinks, with a sigh,

Of poor Mary, the Maid of the Inn.

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!"

Southey

"Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle, This dark and stormy water?” "Oh! 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 would cheer my bonny bride,
When they have slain her lover?"-

Out spoke 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 grew drearer, Adown the glen rode armed men! Their trampling sounded nearer! "Oh! 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-oh! too strong for human hand!

The tempest gather'd o'er her

r—

And still they row'd, amidst the roar
Of waters fast prevailing:

Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore,

His wrath was changed to wailing

For sore dismay'd, through storm and shade,
His child he did discover!

One lovely arm was stretch'd 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!-oh! my daughter!"—

'Twas vain!-the loud waves lash'd the shore, Return or aid preventing:

The waters wild went o'er his child

And he was left lamenting.

Campbell.

Song from the Lady of the Lake.

SOLDIER, rest! thy warfare o'er,

Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking;

Dream of battle-fields no more,

Days of danger, nights of waking. In our isle's enchanted hall,

Hands unseen thy couch are strewing,

Fairy strains of music fall,

Every sense in slumber dewing.

Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,
Dream of fighting fields no more;

Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking,
Morn of toil, nor night of waking.

No rude sound shall reach thine ear,
Armour's clang, or war-steed champing,
Trump nor pibroch summon here

Mustering clan, or squadron tramping.
Yet the lark's shrill fife may come
At the day-break from the fallow,
And the bittern sound his drum,
Booming from the sedgy shallow.
Ruder sounds shall none be near,
Guards nor warders challenge here.
Here's no war-steed's neigh and champing,
Shouting clans, or squadrons tramping.

"Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle, This dark and stormy water?" 'Oh! 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 would cheer my bonny bride,
When they have slain her lover?”–

Out spoke 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 grew drearer,
Adown the glen rode armed men !—
Their trampling sounded nearer!

Oh! 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-oh! too strong for human hand!

The tempest gather'd o'er her—