Or mark it as the sunbeams crawl
Inch after inch along the wall.
The lark was wont my matin ring,
The sable rook my vespers sing;
These towers, although a king's they be,
Have not a hall of joy for me.

No more at dawning morn I rise,
And sun myself in Ellen's eyes,
Drive the fleet deer the forest through,
And homeward wend with evening dew;
A blythesome welcome blythely meet,
And lay my trophies at her feet,
While fled the eve on wing of glee—
That life is lost to love and me.

HE IS GONE ON THE MOUNTAIN.

SIR WALTER SCOTT. From the "Lady of the Lake."

HE is gone on the mountain,

He is lost to the forest,

Like a summer-dried fountain,

When our need was the sorest.

The font, re-appearing,

From the rain-drops shall borrow ;

But to us comes no cheering,

To Duncan no morrow!

The hand of the reaper

Takes the ears that are hoary;

>But the voice of the weeper

Wails manhood in glory.
The autumn winds rushing

Waft the leaves that are searest ;

But our flower was in flushing

When blighting was nearest.

Fleet foot on the correi,

Sage counsel in cumber,
Red hand in the foray,

How sound is thy slumber!
Like the dew on the mountain,
Like the foam on the river,
Like the bubble on the fountain,

Thou art gone, and for ever!

JOCK O' HAZELDEAN.

SIR WALTER SCOTT. Modernised from the ancient ballad of "Jock o' Hazelgreen."

"A chain o' gold ye sall not lack,

Nor braid to bind your hair,
Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk,

Nor palfrey fresh and fair;
And you, the foremost o' them a',

Shall ride our forest queen :"

But aye she loot the tears down fa'
For Jock o' Hazeldean.

The kirk was deck'd at morning-tide,
The tapers glimmer'd fair;

The priest and bridegroom wait the bride,
And dame and knight were there:
They sought her baith by bower and ha’;
The ladye was not seen!

She's o'er the Border and awa'
Wi' Jock o' Hazeldean.

JAMES HOGG, the "Ettrick Shepherd," born Jan. 25, 1772, died Nov. 21, 1835. Air-"Andro and his cutty gun."

ON Ettrick clear there grows a brier,
An' monie a bonnie bloomin' shaw;
But Peggy's grown the fairest flower
The braes o' Ettrick ever saw.
Her cheek is like the woodland rose,
Her ee the violet set wi' dew;
The lily's fair without compare,
Yet in her bosom tines its hue.

Had I her hame at my wee house,
That stands aneath yon mountain high,
To help me wi' the kye an' ewes,
An' in my arms at e'ening lie;
Oh, sae blythe, an', oh, sae cheerie,
Oh, sae happy we wad be!
The lammie to the ewe is dear,

But Peggy's dearer far to me.

WHEN THE KYE COME HAME.

JAMES HOGG. Air-"The blaithrie o't."

COME, all ye jolly shepherds

That whistle through the glen,

I'll tell ye of a secret

That courtiers dinna ken.

What is the greatest bliss

That the tongue o' man can name?

'Tis to woo a bonnie lassie

When the kye come hame.
When the kye come hame,
When the kye come hame;
"Tween the gloamin' and the mirk,
When the kye come hame.

'Tis not beneath the burgonet,
Nor yet beneath the crown,
"Tis not on couch of velvet,
Nor yet on bed of down;
"Tis beneath the spreading birch,
In the dell without a name,
Wi' a bonnie, bonnie lassie
When the kye come hame.

There the blackbird bigs his nest
For the mate he loves to see,
And up upon the tapmost hough,
Oh, a happy bird is he!
Then he pours his melting ditty,
And love 'tis a' the theme,
And he'll woo his bonnie lassie
When the kye come hame.

When the bluart bears a pearl,

And the daisy turns a pea, And the bonnie lucken gowan Has fauldit up his ee,