No sound comes back, like the sounds of yore,
Unto sweeping swords from the marble floor;
By the red fountain the valiant lie,
The flower of Provençal chivalry;

But one free step, and one lofty heart,

Bear through that scene to the last their part.

She hath led the death-train of the brave
To the verge of his own ancestral grave;
She hath held o'er her spirit long rigid sway,
But the struggling passion must now have way.
In the cheek, half seen through her mourning veil,
By turns does the swift blood flush and fail;
The pride on the lip is lingering still,

But it shakes as a flame to the blast might thrill,
Anguish and triumph are met at strife,

Rending the cords of her frail young life,
And she sinks at last on her warrior's bier,

Lifting her voice as if death might hear,

"I have won thy fame from the breath of wrong,— My soul hath risen for thy glory strong!

Now call me hence by thy side to be,

The world thou leav'st has no place for me;
The light goes with thee, the joy, the worth-
Faithful and tender! oh, call me forth!
Give me my home on thy noble heart,—
Well have we loved, let us both depart!"
And pale on the breast of the dead she lay,
The living cheek to the cheek of clay:

The living cheek!
That strife of the spirit to rend its chain;
She is there at rest in her place of pride,

Oh! it was not vain,

In death how queen-like

a glorious bride!

Joy for the freed one!—she might not stay
When the crown had fallen from her life away;
She might not linger a weary thing,

A dove with no home for its broken wing,
Thrown on the harshness of alien skies,
That know not its own land's melodies.
From the long heart-withering early gone,

She hath lived — she had loved her task is done!

:

XXV

AULD ROBIN GRAY.

When the sheep are in the fauld, when the kye come hame,
When a' the weary warld to quiet rest are gane;

The woes of my heart fa' in showers frae my ee,
Unkenned by my gudeman, who soundly sleeps by me.

Young Jamie loved me weel, and sought me for his bride,
But saving ae crown-piece, he'd naething else beside.
To make the crown a pound, my Jamie gaed to sea;
And the crown and the pound, O they were baith for me!

Before he had been gane a twelvemonth and a day,
My father brak his arm, our cow was stown away:
My mother she fell sick —my Jamie was at sea;
And Auld Robin Gray, oh! he came a-courting me.

My father cou'dna work—my mother cou'dna spin;
I toiled day and night, but their bread I cou'dna win;
Auld Rob maintained them baith, and wi' tears in his ee,
Said, "Jenny, oh! for their sakes, will you marry me?"

My heart it said na, and I looked for Jamie back;
But hard blew the winds, and his ship it was a wrack:
His ship it was a wrack! Why didna Jamie dee ?
And wherefore am I spared to cry out, Woe is me?

My father urged me sair, my mother didna speak,
But she looked in my face till my heart was like to break,
They gied him my hand, but my heart was in the sea;
And so Auld Robin Gray, he was gudeman to me.

I hadna been his wife, a week but only four,
When mournfu' as I sat on the stone by my door,
I saw my Jamie's ghaist I cou'dna think it he,
Till he said, "I'm come home, my love, to marry thee!"

O sair, sair did we greet, and mickle did we say;
Ae kiss we took, nae mair—I bad him gang away
I wish that I were dead, but I am no like to dee;
For O, I am but young to cry out, Woe is me!

I

gang

like a ghaist, and I carena much to spin; I darena think o' Jamie, for that wad be a sin; But I will do my best a gude wife aye to be,

For Auld Robin Gray, oh! he is sae gude to me.

LADY ANNE LINDSAY.

XXVI

LORD JOHN OF THE EAST.

The fires blazed bright till deep midnight,

And the guests sat in the hall,

And the Lord of the feast, Lord John of the East,
Was the merriest of them all.

His dark grey eye, that wont so sly
Beneath his helm to scowl,

Flashed keenly bright, like a new-waked sprite,
As passed the circling bowl.

In laughter light, or jocund lay,

That voice was heard, whose sound,

Stern, loud, and deep, in battle fray
Did foemen fierce astound;

And stretched so balm, like lady's palm,
To every jester near,

That hand which through a prostrate foe
Oft thrust the ruthless spear.

The gallants sang, and the goblets rang,
And they revelled in careless state,

Till a thundering sound, that shook the ground,
Was heard at the castle-gate.

“Who knocks without, so loud and stout?

Some wandering knight, I ween, Who from afar, like a guiding star, Our blazing hall hath seen.

"If a stranger it be, of high degree
(No churl durst make such a din),

Step forth amain, my pages twain,
And soothly ask him in.

"Tell him our cheer is the forest deer,

Our bowl is mantling high,

And the Lord of the feast is John of the East, Who welcomes him courteously."

The pages twain returned again,

And a wild scared look had they : "Why look ye so?-is it friend or foe?" baron say.

Did the angry

"A stately knight without doth wait,

But further he will not hie,

Till the baron himself shall come to the gate, And entreat him courteously."