IX ROSABELLE. O listen, listen, ladies gay! No haughty feat of arms I tell; Soft is the note, and sad the lay That mourns the lovely Rosabelle. "Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew, "The blackening wave is edged with white; "Last night the gifted seer did view A wet shroud swathed round lady gay; Then stay thee, fair, in Ravensheuch; Why cross the gloomy firth to-day?" ""Tis not because Lord Lindesay's heir ""Tis not because the ring they ride (And Lindesay at the ring rides well), But that my sire the wine will chide If 'tis not filled by Rosabelle." O'er Roslin hall that dreary night A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam; 'Twas broader than the watch-fire's light, And redder than the bright moonbeam. It glared on Roslin's castled rock, It ruddied all the copse-wood glen; 'Twas seen from Dryden's groves of oak, And seen from caverned Hawthornden. Seemed all on fire that chapel proud Seemed all on fire, within, around, And glimmered all the dead men's mail. Blazed battlement and pinnet high, Blazed every rose-carved buttress fair So still they blaze, when fate is nigh The lordly line of high St. Clair. There are twenty of Roslin's barons bold But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle ! And each St. Clair was buried there With candle, with book, and with knell; But the sea-caves rung, and the wild winds sung The dirge of lovely Rosabelle. SIR W. SCOTT. X SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT. Southward with fleet of ice, Wild and fast blew the blast, And the east wind was his breath. His lordly ships of ice Glistened in the sun; On each side, like pennons wide, His sails of white sea-mist Dripped with silver rain; But where he passed, there were cast C Eastward from Campobello Sir Humphrey Gilbert sailed; Three days or more seaward he bore; Then, alas! the land-wind failed. Alas! the land-wind failed, He sat upon the deck, The Book was in his hand; "Do not fear! Heaven is as near," He said, “by water as by land! In the first watch of the night, Out of the sea, mysteriously, The fleet of Death rose all around. The moon and the evening star Were hanging in the shrouds; Every mast, as it passed, Seemed to rake the passing clouds. They grappled with their prize, At midnight bleak and cold! As of a rock was the shock: Heavily the ground-swell rolled. Southward through day and dark, With mist and rain, to the Spanish Main; Southward, for ever southward, They drift through dark and day; LONGFELLOW. ΧΙ THE MOUNTAIN BOY. The shepherd of the Alps am I! Here first the ruddy sunlight gleams, Here linger last the parting beams Here is the river's fountain-head; As forth it leaps with joyous shout I seize it ere it gushes out. The mountain boy am I! The mountain is my own domain; The mountain boy am I! |