The Children's Garland from the Best Poets Part 42

And I'll give thee a silver pound To row us o'er the ferry.'

'Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle, This dark and stormy water?'

'O, I'm the chief of Ulva's isle, And this Lord Ullin's daughter.

'And fast before her father's men Three days we've fled together, For should he find us in the glen, My blood would stain the heather.

'His hors.e.m.e.n hard behind us ride; Should they our steps discover, Then who will cheer my bonny bride When they have slain her lover?'

Out spoke the hardy Highland wight, 'I'll go, my chief, I'm ready; It is not for your silver bright; But for your winsome lady:

'And by my word! the bonny bird In danger shall not tarry: So though the waves are raging white, I'll row you o'er the ferry.'

By this the storm grew loud apace, The water-wraith was shrieking; And in the scowl of Heaven each face Grew dark as they were speaking.

But still as wilder blew the wind, And as the night grew drearer, Adown the glen rode armed men, Their trampling sounded nearer.

'O haste thee, haste!' the lady cries, 'Though tempests round us gather; I'll meet the raging of the skies, But not an angry father.'

The boat has left the stormy land, A stormy sea before her,-- When, oh! too strong for human hand The tempest gathered o'er her.

And still they row'd amidst the roar Of waters fast prevailing: Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal sh.o.r.e; His wrath was changed to wailing.

For, sore dismay'd, through storm and shade His child he did discover: One lovely hand she stretch'd for aid, And one was round her lover.

'Come back! come back!' he cried in grief 'Across this stormy water: And I'll forgive your Highland chief, My daughter! oh, my daughter!'

'Twas vain: the loud waves lash'd the sh.o.r.e, Return or aid preventing; The waters wild went o'er his child, And he was left lamenting.

_T. Campbell_

CXXIV

_THE SEA_

To sea! to sea! the calm is o'er, The wanton water leaps in sport, And rattles down the pebbly sh.o.r.e, The dolphin wheels, the sea cows snort, And unseen mermaid's pearly song Comes bubbling up, the weeds among.

Fling broad the sail, dip deep the oar: To sea! to sea! the calm is o'er.

To sea! to sea! our white winged bark Shall billowing cleave its watery way, And with its shadow, fleet and dark, Break the caved Tritons' azure day, Like mountain eagle soaring light O'er antelopes on Alpine height.

The anchor heaves! The ship swings free!

Our sails swell full! To sea! to sea!

_T. L. Beddoes_

CXXV

_FIDELITY_

A barking sound the shepherd hears, A cry as of a dog or fox; He halts, and searches with his eye Among the scattered rocks: And now at distance can discern A stirring in a brake of fern; And instantly a dog is seen, Glancing through that covert green.

The dog is not of mountain breed; Its motions, too, are wild and shy; With something, as the shepherd thinks, Unusual in its cry: Nor is there any one in sight All round, in hollow or on height; Nor shout, nor whistle strikes his ear: What is the creature doing here?

It was a cove, a huge recess, That keeps, till June, December's snow; A lofty precipice in front, A silent tarn below; Far in the bosom of Helvellyn, Remote from public road or dwelling, Pathway, or cultivated land; From trace of human foot or hand.

There sometimes doth a leaping fish Send through the tarn a lonely cheer; The crags repeat the raven's croak, In symphony austere; Thither the rainbow comes, the cloud-- And mists that spread the flying shroud, And sunbeams; and the sounding blast, That if it could would hurry past; But that enormous barrier holds it fast.

Not free from boding thoughts, awhile The shepherd stood; then makes his way O'er rocks and stones, following the dog As quickly as he may; Nor far had gone before he found A human skeleton on the ground: The appalled discoverer with a sigh Looks round to learn the history.

From those abrupt and perilous rocks The man had fallen, that place of fear!

At length upon the shepherd's mind It breaks, and all is clear: He instantly recalled the name, And who he was, and whence he came; Remembered too the very day On which the traveller pa.s.sed that way.

But hear a wonder for whose sake This lamentable tale I tell!

A lasting monument of words This wonder merits well.

The dog, which still was hovering nigh, Repeating the same timid cry, This dog had been through three months' s.p.a.ce A dweller in that savage place.

Yes, proof was plain that since the day When this ill-fated traveller died, The dog had watch'd about the spot, Or by his master's side: How nourished there through that long time, He knows who gave that love sublime; And gave that strength of feeling great, Above all human estimate.

_W. Wordsworth_

CXXVI

_THE FOX AND THE CAT_

The fox and the cat, as they travell'd one day, With moral discourses cut shorter the way: ''Tis great,' says the Fox, 'to make justice our guide!'

'How G.o.d-like is mercy!' Grimalkin replied.

Whilst thus they proceeded, a wolf from the wood, Impatient of hunger, and thirsting for blood, Rush'd forth--as he saw the dull shepherd asleep-- And seiz'd for his supper an innocent sheep.

'In vain, wretched victim, for mercy you bleat, When mutton's at hand,' says the wolf, 'I must eat.'

Grimalkin's astonish'd!--the fox stood aghast, To see the fell beast at his b.l.o.o.d.y repast.

'What a wretch,' says the cat, ''tis the vilest of brutes; Does he feed upon flesh when there's herbage and roots?'

Cries the fox, 'While our oaks give us acorns so good, What a tyrant is this to spill innocent blood!'

Well, onward they march'd, and they moraliz'd still, Till they came where some poultry pick'd chaff by a mill.

Sly Reynard survey'd them with gluttonous eyes, And made, spite of morals, a pullet his prize.

A mouse, too, that chanc'd from her covert to stray, The greedy Grimalkin secured as her prey.

A spider that sat in her web on the wall, Perceiv'd the poor victims, and pitied their fall; She cried, 'Of such murders, how guiltless am I!'

So ran to regale on a new-taken fly.

_J. Cunningham_