"Come back, come back!" he cried in grief, "Across this stormy water: And I'll forgive your Highland chief, My daughter!-O my daughter!" 'Twas vain :-the loud waves lash'd the shore, Return or aid preventing : The waters wild went o'er his child, And he was left lamenting. THOMAS CAmpbell. XL THE DEMON-LOVER "O WHERE have you been, my long lost love, This seven long years and more?" "O I'm come to seek my former vows Ye granted me before." "O hold your tongue of your former vows, O hold your tongue of your former vows, He turned him right and round about, "I wad never hae trodden on Irish ground "I might hae had a king's daughter, I might hae had a king's daughter, "If ye might have had a king's daughter, Yersel ye had to blame; Ye might have taken the king's daughter, "O fause are the vows of womankind, I never wad hae trodden on Irish ground, "If I was to leave my husband dear, O what have you to take me to, "I hae seven ships upon the sea, She has taken up her two little babes, She set her foot upon the ship, وو No mariners could she behold; But the sails were o' the taffetie, And the masts o' the beaten gold. She had not sailed a league, a league, The masts, that were like the beaten gold, Bent not on the heaving seas; The sails, that were o' the taffetie, Fill'd not in the east land breeze. They had not sailed a league, a league, A league but barely three, Until she espied his cloven foot, And she wept right bitterlie. "O hold your tongue of your weeping," says he, "Of your weeping now let me be; I will show you how the lilies grow "O what are yon, yon pleasant hills, "O whaten a mountain is yon," she said, "All so dreary wi' frost and snow?" "O yon is the mountain of hell," he said, 66 Where you and I will go." And aye when she turned her round about, Nae taller were than he. The clouds grew dark, and the wind grew loud, And waesome wail'd the snow-white sprites He strack the tap-mast wi' his hand, The foremast wi' his knee; And he brake that gallant ship in twain, UNKNOWN. XLI LEWTI, OR THE CIRCASSIAN LOVE-CHANT AT midnight by the stream I roved, Image of Lewti! from my mind The moon was high, the moonlight gleam, Heaved upon Tamaha's stream; But the rock shone brighter far. Onward to the moon it passed: Still brighter and more bright it grew, With floating colours not a few, Till it reach'd the moon at last; Then the cloud was wholly bright, And with such joy I find my Lewti; Drinks in as deep a flush of beauty! Nay, treacherous image! leave my mind, If Lewti never will be kind. The little cloud-it floats away, Nay, treacherous image! leave my mind- I saw a vapour in the sky, I ne'er beheld so thin a cloud. For maids, as well as youths, have perish'd |