O'er Roslin all that dreary night

A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam; "Twas broader than the watch-fire light,

And redder than the bright moonbeam.

It glared on Roslin's castled rock,

It ruddied all the copsewood glen; "Twas seen from Dryden's groves of oak, And seen from caverned Hawthornden.

Seemed all on fire that chapel proud
Where Roslin's chiefs uncoffined lie,

Each Baron, for a sable shroud,
Sheathed in his iron panoply.

Seemed all on fire within, around,
Deep sacristy and altar's pale;
Shone every pillar foliage-bound,

And glimmered all the dead men's mail.

Blazed battlement and pinnet high,

Blazed every rose-carved buttress fair So still they blaze when fate is nigh The lordly line of high Saint Clair.

There are twenty of Roslin's barons bold
Lie buried within that proud chapelle;
Each one the holy vault doth hold-

But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle !

And each Saint Clair was buried there,

With candle, with book, and with knell; But the sea-caves rung and the wild waves sung The dirge of lovely Rosabelle.

AULD ROBIN GRAY.

Lady Anne Lindsay.

WHEN the sheep are in the fauld, when the cows come hame,
When a' the weary world to quiet rest are gane,

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

Young Jamie loo'd 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, oh! 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 toil'd day and night, but their bread I cou'dna win;
Auld Rob maintain'd 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 look'd for Jamie back;
But hard blew the winds, and his ship was a wrack:
His ship it was a wrack! Why didna Jenny dee?
Or, wherefore am I spared to cry out, Woe is me!

My father argued sair-my mother didna speak,
But she look'd 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 stane at my door,

I saw my Jamie's ghaist- I cou'dna think it he,
Till he said, "I'm come hame, my love, to marry thee!"

O sair, sair did we greet, and mickle say of a';
Ae kiss we took, nae mair- I bad him gang awa.
I wish that I were dead, but I'm 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 kind to me.

ALLEN-A-DALE.

From ROKEBY.

Sir Walter Scott.

ALLEN-A-DALE has no fagot for burning,
Allen-a-Dale has no furrow for turning,
Allen-a-Dale has no fleece for the spinning,
Yet Allen-a-Dale has red gold for the winning.
Come, read me my riddle! come, hearken my tale!
And tell me the craft of bold Allen-a-Dale.

The Baron of Ravensworth prances in pride,
And he views his domains upon Arkindale side.
The mere for his net, and the land for his game,
The chase for the wild, and the park for the tame;

Yet the fish of the lake, and the deer of the vale,
Are less free to Lord Dacre than Allen-a-Dale!

Allen-a-Dale was ne'er belted a knight,

Though his spur be as sharp, and his blade be as bright;
Allen-a-Dale is no baron or lord,

Yet twenty tall yeomen will draw at his word;

And the best of our nobles his bonnet will vail,

Who at Rere-cross on Stanmore meets Allen-a-Dale.

Allen-a-Dale to his wooing is come;

The mother, she asked of his household and home:
"Though the castle of Richmond stand fair on the hill,
My hall," quoth bold Allen, "shows gallanter still;
'Tis the blue vault of heaven, with its crescent so pale,
And with all its bright spangles!" said Allen-a-Dale.

The father was steel, and the mother was stone;
They lifted the latch, and they bade him be gone;
But loud, on the morrow, their wail and their cry:
He had laughed on the lass with his bonny black eye,
And she fled to the forest to hear a love-tale,

And the youth it was told by was Allen-a-Dale!

O, BRIGNALL BANKS ARE WILD AND FAIR.

From ROKEBY.

Sir Walter Scott.

O, BRIGNALL banks are wild and fair,
And Greta woods are green,

And you may gather garlands there

Would croco summer queen

And as I rode by Dalton-hall

Beneath the turrets high,

A Maiden on the castle wall
Was singing merrily,-

"O, Brignall banks are fresh and fair,
And Greta woods are green;
I'd rather rove with Edmund there,
Than reign our English queen." —

"If, Maiden, thou would'st wend with me, To leave both tower and town,

Thou first must guess what life lead we,
That dwell by dale and down?
And if thou can'st that riddle read,
As read full well you may,

Then to the greenwood shalt thou speed,
As blithe as Queen of May."-
Yet sung she: "Brignall banks are fair,
And Greta woods are green;

I'd rather rove with Edmund there,
Than reign our English queen.

"I read you, by your bugle-horn,
And by your palfrey good,
I read you for a Ranger sworn,
To keep the king's greenwood."
"A Ranger, lady, winds his horn,
And 'tis at peep of light;
His blast is heard at merry morn,
And mine at dead of night."

Yet sung she: "Brignall banks are fair, And Greta woods are gay;

I would I were with Edmund there,

To reign his Queen of May!