Golden Numbers Part 58

"I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied-- Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide; And now I am come, with this lost love of mine To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.

There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar."

The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up: He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup.

She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh, With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye.

He took her soft hand ere her mother could bar,-- "Now tread we a measure!" said young Lochinvar.

So stately his form, and so lovely her face, That never a hall such a galliard did grace; While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume; And the bride-maidens whispered, "'Twere better by far To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar."

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, When they reached the hall door and the charger stood near; So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung!

"She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur!

They'll have fleet steeds that follow!" quoth young Lochinvar.

There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan; Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran; There was racing and chasing on Cann.o.bie Lee; But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see.

So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

_From "Marmion."_

_Jock of Hazeldean_

"Why weep ye by the tide, ladie?

Why weep ye by the tide?

I'll wed ye to my youngest son, And ye sall be his bride; And ye sall be his bride, ladie, Sae comely to be seen"-- But aye she loot the tears down fa'

For Jock of Hazeldean.

"Now let this wilfu' grief be done, And dry that cheek so pale; Young Frank is chief of Errington, And lord of Langley-dale; His step is first in peaceful ha', His sword in battle keen"-- But aye she loot the tears down fa'

For Jock of Hazeldean.

"A chain of 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 of Hazeldean.

The kirk was decked at morning-tide, The tapers glimmered fair; The priest and bridegroom wait the bride, And dame and knight are there.

They sought her baith by bower and ha', The ladie was not seen!

She's o'er the Border, and awa'

Wi' Jock of Hazeldean.

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

_The Lady of Shalott_

Part I

On either side the river lie Long fields of barley and of rye, That clothe the wold and meet the sky; And through the fields the road runs by To many-towered Camelot; And up and down the people go, Gazing where the lilies blow Round an island there below, The island of Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver Through the wave that runs forever By the island in the river Flowing down to Camelot; Four gray walls, and four gray towers, Overlook a s.p.a.ce of flowers, And the silent isle imbowers The Lady of Shalott.

By the margin, willow-veiled, Slide the heavy barges trailed By slow horses; and unhailed The shallop flitteth silken-sailed, Skimming down to Camelot: But who hath seen her wave her hand?

Or at the cas.e.m.e.nt seen her stand?

Or is she known in all the land, The Lady of Shalott.

Only reapers, reaping early In among the bearded barley, Hear a song that echoes cheerly, From the river winding clearly, Down to towered Camelot: And by the moon the reaper weary, Piling sheaves in uplands airy, Listening, whispers "'Tis the fairy Lady of Shalott."

Part II

There she weaves by night and day A magic web with colors gay.

She has heard a whisper say, A curse is on her if she stay To look down to Camelot.

She knows not what the curse may be And so she weaveth steadily, And little other care hath she, The Lady of Shalott.

And moving thro' a mirror clear That hangs before her all the year, Shadows of the world appear.

There she sees the highway near Winding down to Camelot; There the river eddy whirls, And there the surly village churls, And the red cloaks of market-girls, Pa.s.s onward from Shalott.

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, An abbot on an ambling pad, Sometimes a curly shepherd lad, Or long-haired page in crimson clad, Goes by to towered Camelot; And sometimes thro' the mirror blue The knights come riding two and two: She hath no loyal knight and true, The Lady of Shalott.

But in her web she still delights To weave the mirror's magic sights, For often thro' the silent nights A funeral, with plumes and lights.

And music, went to Camelot: Or when the moon was overhead, Came two young lovers lately wed; "I am half sick of shadows," said The Lady of Shalott.

Part III

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, He rode between the barley-sheaves, The sun came dazzling through the leaves, And flamed upon the brazen greaves Of bold Sir Lancelot.

A red-cross knight forever kneeled To a lady in his shield, That sparkled on the yellow field, Beside remote Shalott.

The gemmy bridle glittered free, Like to some branch of stars we see Hung in the golden Galaxy.

The bridle-bells rang merrily.

As he rode down to Camelot: And from his blazoned baldric slung A mighty silver bugle hung, And as he rode his armor rung, Beside remote Shalott.

All in the blue unclouded weather Thick-jewelled shone the saddle-leather, The helmet and the helmet-feather Burned like one burning flame together, As he rode down to Camelot.

As often through the purple night, Below the starry cl.u.s.ters bright, Some bearded meteor, trailing light, Moves over still Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight glowed; On burnished hooves his war-horse trode; From underneath his helmet flowed His coal-black curls as on he rode, As he rode down to Camelot.

From the bank and from the river He flashed into the crystal mirror, "Tirra lirra," by the river Sang Sir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces thro' the room, She saw the water lily bloom, She saw the helmet and the plume, She looked down to Camelot.

Out flew the web and floated wide; The mirror cracked from side to side; "The curse is come upon me," cried The Lady of Shalott.

Part IV

In the stormy east-wind straining, The pale yellow woods were waning, The broad stream in his banks complaining, Heavily the low sky raining Over towered Camelot; Down she came and found a boat Beneath a willow left afloat, And round about the prow she wrote, _The Lady of Shalott._

And down the river's dim expanse-- Like some bold seer in a trance, Seeing all his own mischance-- With a gla.s.sy countenance Did she look to Camelot.

And at the closing of the day She loosed the chain, and down she lay; The broad stream bore her far away, The Lady of Shalott.

Lying, robed in snowy white That loosely flew to left and right-- The leaves upon her falling light-- Thro' the noises of the night She floated down to Camelot: And as the boat-head wound along The willowy hills and fields among, They heard her singing her last song, The Lady of Shalott.

Heard a carol, mournful, holy, Chanted loudly, chanted lowly, Till her blood was frozen slowly, And her eyes were darkened wholly, Turned to towered Camelot; For ere she reached upon the tide The first house by the water-side, Singing in her song she died, The Lady of Shalott.