Lord William leaped into the boat, The boatman plied the oar, the boat The boatman paus'd,-" Methought I heard A child's distressful cry!" ""T was but the howling wind of night," Lord William made reply. "Haste, haste-ply swift and strong the oar! Haste haste across the stream! Again Lord William heard a cry "I heard a child's distressful scream,' The boatman cried again. -"Nay, hasten on-the night is darkAnd we should search in vain." "Oh God! Lord William, dost thou know How dreadful 'tis to die? And canst thou without pity hear A child's expiring cry?" "How horrible it is to sink Beneath the chilly stream, To stretch the powerless arms in vain, The shriek again was heard. It came And near them they beheld a child, A little crag, and all around Was spread the rising flood. The boatman plied the oar, the boat The moon-beam shone upon the child, And showed how pale his face. "Now reach thine hand!" the boatman cried, Lord William, reach and save! "— The child stretched forth his little hands, To grasp the hand he gave. Then William shrieked: the hand he touched Was cold, and damp, and dead! He felt young Edmund in his arms, The boat sunk down, the murderer sunk SOUTHEY. CLVIII HUNTING SONG. Waken, lords and ladies gay, All the jolly chase is here, With hawk, and horse, and hunting spear; Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling, Merrily, merrily, mingle they, "Waken, lords and ladies gay!" Waken, lords and ladies gay, The mist has left the mountain gray, gay ! " Waken, lords and ladies gay, We can show you where he lies, We can show the marks he made, Louder, louder chant the lay, Time, stern huntsman! who can baulk, Think of this, and rise with day, Gentle lords and ladies gay! SIR W. SCOTT. CLIX CHILDE HAROLD'S GOOD-NIGHT. "Adieu, adieu! my native shore The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar, Yon Sun that sets upon the sea My native land-Good-night! "A few short hours, and he will rise And I shall hail the main and skies, Wild weeds are gathering on the wall; "Come hither, hither, my little page, But dash the tear-drop from thine eye; Our ship is swift and strong: Our fleetest falcon scarce can fly More merrily along." "Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high, I fear not wave nor wind: Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that I Am sorrowful in mind; For I have from my father gone, "My father blessed me fervently, Yet did not much complain; But sorely will my mother sigh Till I come back again." |