The lark, his lay who thrill'd all day,
Sits hush'd his partner nigh;

Breeze, bird, and flower confess the hour,
But where is County Guy?

The village maid steals through the shade
Her shepherd's suit to hear;
To Beauty shy, by lattice high,
Sings high-born Cavalier.

The star of Love, all stars above,

Now reigns o'er earth and sky,

And high and low the influence know

But where is County Guy?

SONG

SIR WALTER SCOTT

WHERE shall the lover rest

Whom the fates sever

From his true maiden's breast
Parted for ever?

Where, through groves deep and high
Sounds the far billow,

Where early violets die

Under the willow,

Eleu loro,

Soft shall be his pillow.

There, through the summer day,
Cool streams are laving:
There, while the tempests sway,

Scarce are boughs waving ;
There thy rest shalt thou take,
Parted for ever,

Never again to wake,

Never, O never!

Eleu loro,
Never, O never!

Where shall the traitor rest,
He, the deceiver,

Who could win maiden's breast,
Ruin, and leave her?

In the lost battle,

Borne down by the flying,

Where mingles war's rattle

With groans of the dying;
Eleu loro,

There shall he be lying.

Her wing shall the eagle flap
O'er the false hearted :
His warm blood the wolf shall lap
Ere life be parted:

Shame and dishonour sit

By his grave ever;

Blessings shall hallow it

Never, O never!
Eleu loro,

Never, O never!

SIR WALTER SCOTT

SONG

A WEARY lot is thine, fair maid,

A weary lot is thine!

To pull the thorn thy brow to braid,
And press the rue for wine.
A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien,
A feather of the blue,

A doublet of the Lincoln green-
No more of me you knew,
My Love!

No more of me you knew.

O

SONG

LOVERS' eyes are sharp to see,
And lovers' ears in hearing;

And love, in life's extremity,

Can lend an hour of cheering.
Disease had been in Mary's bower
And slow decay from mourning,
Though now she sits on Neidpath's tower
To watch her Love's returning.

All sunk and dim her eyes so bright,
Her form decay'd by pining,
Till through her wasted hand, at night,
You saw the taper shining.
By fits a sultry hectic hue

Across her cheek was flying;

By fits so ashy pale she grew,

Her maidens thought her dying.

Yet keenest powers to see and hear
Seem'd in her frame residing;
Before the watch-dog prick'd his ear
She heard her lover's riding;

Ere scarce a distant form was kenn'd
She knew and waved to greet him,
And o'er the battlement did bend
As on the wing to meet him.

He came he pass'd-an heedless gaze
As o'er some stranger glancing;
Her welcome, spoke in faltering phrase,
Lost in his courser's prancing-
The castle-arch, whose hollow tone
Returns each whisper spoken,
Could scarcely catch the feeble moan
Which told her heart was broken.

SIR WALTER SCOTT

SONG

FAREWELL to Northmaven,
Gray Hillswicke, farewell!

To the calms of thy haven,
The storms on thy fell-
To each breeze that can vary
The mood of thy main,
And to thee, bonny Mary!
We meet not again.

Farewell the wild ferry,

Which Hacon could brave,
When the peaks of the Skerry
Were white in the wave.
There's a maid may look over

These wild waves in vain,

For the skiff of her lover

He comes not again.

The vows thou hast broke,

On the wild currents fling them;
On the quicksand and rock

Let the mermaiden sing them.
New sweetness they'll give her
Bewildering strain;

But there's one who will never
Believe them again.

O were there an island,
Though ever so wild,
Where woman could smile, and
No man be beguiled-

Too tempting a snare

Το poor mortals were given;

And the hope would fix there,
That should anchor on heaven.

SIR WALTER SCOTT

LOVE

ALL thoughts, all passions, all delights,

Whatever stirs this mortal frame,

All are but ministers of Love,

And feed his sacred flame.

Oft in my waking dreams do I
Live o'er again that happy hour,
When midway on the mount I lay
Beside the ruin'd tower.

The moonshine stealing o'er the scene
Had blended with the lights of eve;
And she was there, my hope, my joy,
My own dear Genevieve!