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Who but Fergus O'Farrell, the fiery and gay, A second Eve, but by no crime accursed ;
Had she been first, still Paradise had been,
So she not only had preserved from ill
Not awed to duty by superior sway,
The haste of Heaven to have her was so great
And, pleased to be outdone, with joy will see
But more will wonder at so short an age, Her reel, and her rock, and her flax she has To find a blank beyond the thirtieth page ; parted ;
And with a pious fear begin to doubt
A copy near the original, ’t was she.
A short sweet odor, of a vast expense.
She vanished, we can scarcely say she died ; On the slopes of La Judoigne the Frenchmen are For but a now did heaven and earth divide : flying,
She passed serenely with a single breath ;
One sigh did her eternal bliss assure ;
So little penance needs, when souls are almost pure.
As gentle dreams our waking thoughts pursue ; In the cloisters of Ypres a banner is swaying,
Or, one dream passed, we slide into a new;
So close they follow, such wild order keep,
We think ourselves awake, and are asleep :
She did but dream of heaven, and she was there.
No pains she suffered, nor expired with noise;
As an old friend is beckoned to a feast,
And treated like a long-familiar guest.
He took her as he found, but found her so,
Or counseled her to dress the nuptial room,
For on that night the bridegroom was to come.
He kept his hour, and found her where she lay Made for the man, of whom she was a part ; Clothed all in white, the livery of the day. Made to attract his eyes, and keep his heart.
ELEGY ON THE COUNTESS OF ABINGDON.
But long, upon Araby's green sunny highlands, LAMENT OF THE BORDER WIDOW. .
Shall maids and their lovers remember the doom
Of her who lies sleeping among the Pearl Islands, [This ballad relates to the execution of Cockburne of Hender
With naught but the sea-star to light up her land, a border freebooter, hanged over the gate of his own tower by James V. in his famous expedition, in 1529, against the maraud
tomb. ers of the border. In a deserted burial-place near the ruins of the castle, the monument of Cockburne and his lady is still shown. The following inscription is still legible, though defaced: "HERE And still, when the merry date-season is burning, LYES PERYS OF COKBURNE AND HIS WYFE MARJORY." --Sir Walier Scott.]
And calls to the palm-groves the young and the
old, My love he built me a bonnie bower,
The happiest there, from their pastime returning And clad it a' wi' lily flower ; A brawer bower ye ne'er did see,
At sunset, will weep when thy story is told. Than my true-love he built for me.
The young village maid, when with flowers she
dresses There came a man, by middle day, He spied his sport, and went away ;
Her dark-flowing hair for some festival day, And brought the king that very night,
Will think of thy fate, till neglecting her tresses, Who brake my bower, and slew my knight.
She mournfully turns from the mirror away.