CV.

GOE CLEED WI' SMYLIS THE CHEEK.

GoE cleed wi' smylis the cheek,

Goe fill wi' licht the eye,

O vain when sorrows seek

The fontis of bliss to drie !

Quhan Hope hath pyned away,

Quhan carke and care haif sprung,

Quhan hert hath faun a prey

To grief that hed nae tongue;

O then it is nae tyme

To feinzie quhat we fele,
Or wi' ane merrie chime,

To droun the solemne peal
Quhilk ringis dreir and dul,
Quhan hert and eyne ar ful.

Nae joy is thair for me

In lyf againe to knowe-
Nae plesuir can I see

In its fals and fleetinge schew!

Lyk wyld and fearful waste

Of wavis and bollen sand,
Apperis the path I've tracit
Inwith my natif land :
Fra it I must depairt,

And fra al quhilk hed mie hert.

Fareweil to kith and kin,

Fareweil to luve untrew,

Fareweil to burn and lin,

Farewell to lift sua blew

Fareweil to banck and brae,

Farewell to sang and gleeFareweil to pastyme gay,

Quhilk ance delytit me— Fareweil thou sunny strand, Fareweil ance kinde Scotland !

Fresch flouris beare mie frend,
Unto mie earlie graive,
Thair bid them nevir dwyne,

But ower mie headstane waive ;
Perchance to sume they'll wake
Remembrance o' mie dome-
And though fading, they maye make
Less lonesum-lyk mie tombe-
Sins they will emblems be

Of thy luvinge sympathye.

Now fareweil day's dear licht—

Now fareweil frend and fae

Hail to the starrie nicht,

Whair travailit saul maun gae!

CVI.

THE SPELL-BOUND KNIGHT.

LADY, dar'st thou seek the shore

Which ne'er woman's footstep bore ;

Where beneath yon rugged steep,

Restless rolls the darksome deep?

Dar'st thou, though thy blood run chill,
Thither speed at midnight still—
And when Horror rules the sky,
Raise for lover lost the cry?

Dar'st thou at that ghastliest hour
Breathe the word of magic power-
Word that breaks the mermaid's spell,
Which false lover knows too well?

When affrighted spectres rise
"Twixt pale floods and ebon skies,
Dar'st thou, reft of maiden fear,
Bid the Water-Witch appear?

When upon the sallow tide
Pearly elfin boat does glide,
When the mystic oar is heard,
Like the wing of baleful bird—
Dar'st thou with a voice of might
Call upon thy spell-bound knight?

When the shallop neareth land,

Dar'st thou, with thy snow-white hand,

Boldly on the warrior's breast

Place the Cross by Churchman blest ?—
When is done this work of peril,

Thou hast won proud Ulster's Earl !

CVII.

O THAT THIS WEARY WAR OF LIFE!

O THAT this weary war of life

With me were o'er,

Its eager cry of wo and strife

Heard never more!

I've fronted the red battle field

Mine own dark day;

I fain would fling the helmet, shield,

And sword away.

I strive not now for victory

That wish hath fled;

My prayer is now to numbered be
Among the dead-

All that I loved, alas !-alas !
Hath perished!

They tell me 'tis a glorious thing,

This wearing war;

They tell me joy crowns suffering
And bosom scar.

Such a speech might never pass the lips
That could unfold

How shrinketh heart when sorrow nips
Affections old :

When they who cleaved to us are dust,
Why live to moan?
Better to meet a felon thrust

Than strive alone

Better than loveless palaces
The churchyard stone !

CVIII.

THE POET'S DESTINY.

DARK is the soul of the Minstrel-
Wayward the flash of his eye;
The voice of the proud is against him,
The rude sons of earth pass him by.

Low is the grave of the Minstrel-
Ungraced by the chissel of art;

Yet his name will be blazoned for ever

On the best of all 'scutcheons-the heart!

Strong is the soul of the Minstrel—
He rules in a realm of his own;
His world is peopled by fancies

The noblest that ever were known.

Light is the rest of the Minstrel,
Though heavy his lot upon earth;
From the sward that lies over his ashes
Spring plants of a heavenly birth!

CIX.

I MET WI' HER I LUVED YESTREEN.

I MET wi' her I luved yestreen,

I met her wi' a look o' sorrow;

My leave I took o' her for aye,

A weddit bride she'll be the morrow!

She durst na gie ae smile to me,
Nor drap ae word o' kindly feelin',
Yet down her cheeks the bitter tears,
In monie a pearly bead, were stealin'.

I could na my lost luve upbraid,

Altho' my dearest hopes were blighted, I could na say "ye're fause to me!"Tho' to anither she was plighted.

Like suthfast friens whom death divides,
In Heaven to meet, we silent parted;
Nae voice had we our griefs to speak,

We felt sae lone and broken-hearted.