Gaping, ask me what lordships

I owned at my birth;

But the pale fools wax mute

When I point with my sword East, west, north, and south, Shouting, 'There am I Lord!' Wold and waste, town and tower, Hill, valley, and stream, Trembling, bow to my sway

In the fierce battle fray,

When the star that rules Fate, is

This falchion's red gleam.

MIGHT GIVER! I kiss thee.

I've heard great harps sounding,
In brave bower and hall,
I've drank the sweet music
That bright lips let fall,

I've hunted in greenwood,

And heard small birds sing;

But away with this idle

And cold jargoning;

The music I love, is

The shout of the brave,

The yell of the dying,

The scream of the flying,

When this arm wields death's sickle,

And garners the grave. JOY GIVER! I kiss thee.

Far isles of the ocean

Thy lightning have known, And wide o'er the main land Thy horrors have shone. Great sword of my father, Stern joy of his hand,

Thou hast carved his name deep on

The stranger's red strand,

And won him the glory

Of undying song.

Keen cleaver of gay crests,

Sharp piercer of broad breasts,

Grim slayer of heroes,

And scourge of the strong.

FAME GIVER! I kiss thee.

In a love more abiding

Than that the heart knows,

For maiden more lovely

Than summer's first rose, My heart's knit to thine,

And lives but for thee; In dreamings of gladness,

Thou 'rt dancing with me, Brave measures of madness In some battle-field, Where armor is ringing, And noble blood springing,

And cloven, yawn helmet,

Stout hauberk and shield.

DEATH GIVER! I kiss thee.

The smile of a maiden's eye

Soon may depart;

And light is the faith of

Fair woman's heart;

Changeful as light clouds, And wayward as wind, Be the passions that govern Weak woman's mind.

But thy metal 's as true

As its polish is bright;

When ills wax in number,
Thy love will not slumber,

But, starlike, burns fiercer,
The darker the night.
HEART GLADENER! I kiss thee.

My kindred have perished

By war or by wave,

Now, childless and sireless,
I long for the grave.
When the path of our glory
Is shadowed in death,
With me thou wilt slumber
Below the brown heath;
Thou wilt rest on my bosom,
And with it decay,-
While harps shall be ringing,
And Scalds shall be singing
The deeds we have done in

Our old fearless day.

SONG GIVER! I kiss thee.

JEANIE MORRISON.

I'VE wandered east, I've wandered west,

Through mony a weary way;

But never, never can forget

The luve o' life's young day!

The fire that 's blawn on Beltane e'en,
May weel be black gin Yule;
But blacker fa' awaits the heart
Where first fond luve grows cule.

O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison,

The thochts o' bygane years

Still fling their shadows ower my path,
And blind my een, wi' tears:
They blind my een wi' saut, saut tears,
And sair and sick I pine,

As memory idly summons up

The blithe blinks o' langsyne.

'T was then we luvit ilk ither weel, 'T was then we twa did part;