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The third he once more uplifted the veil,
And kissed her upon her mouth so pale:
“ Thee loved I always; I love still but thee;
And thee will I love through eternity!



When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame,
And a' the warld to sleep are gane;
The waes o’my heart fa’ in showers frae my ee,
When my gudeman lies sound by me.

Young Jamie loo'd me weel, and socht me for his bride;
But, saving a croun, he had naething else beside.
To mak that croun a pund, young Jamie gaed to sea;
And the croun and the pund were baith for me!

He hadna been awa a week but only twa,


mother she fell sick, and the cow was stown awa; My father brak his


Jamie at the sea -
And auld Robin Gray cam'a-courtin' me.
My father cou’dna work, and my mother cou'dna spin;
I toiled day and nicht, but their bread I cou’dna win;
Auld Rob maintained them baith, and, wi' tears in his ee,
Said, “Jenny, for their sakes, oh marry me!"

My heart it said nay, for I looked for Jamie back;
But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wrack;
The ship it was a wrack! Why didna Jamie dee?
Or, why do I live to say, Wae's me?

My father argued sair — my mother didna speak,
But she lookit in my face till my heart was like to break;
Sae they gied him my hand, though my heart was in the sea;
And auld Robin Gray was gudeman to me.
I hadna been a wife, a week but only four,
When, sitting sae mournfully at the door,
I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I cou’dna think it he,
Till he said, “ I'm come back for to marry thee!"

Oh sair, sair did we greet, and muckle did we say;
We took but ae kiss, and we tore ourselves away:
I wish I were dead, but I'm no like to dee;
And why do I live to say, Wae's me?
I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin;
I daurna think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin;
But I'll do my best a gude wife to be,
For auld.Robin Gray is kind unto me.



JOHN ANDERSON, my jo, John,

When we were first acquent,
Your locks were like the raven,

Your bonnie brow was brent;
But now your brow is beld, John,

Your locks are like the snaw;
But blessings on your frosty pow,

John Anderson, my jo.

John Anderson, my jo, John,

We clamb the hill thegither;
And mony a canty day, John,

We've had wi' ane anither.
Now we maun totter down, John,

But hand in hand we'll go;
And sleep thegither at the foot,

John Anderson, my jo.



In the expression of solemnity three things are necessary:
First, Natural voice.
Second, Effusive utterance.
Third, Low pitch.

Here, as in pathetic reading, the natural voice and effusive utterance are used, and the same care should be taken to secure perfect purity of tone and a gentle continuous emission of sound.

Low pitch can be easily secured by striking the pitch of ordinary conversation, which is about the middle line of the voice, and descending on the musical scale four notes. The level of solemn expression will thus be reached, and with freedom from harshness of tone, united with an effusive utterance, the conditions of solemn reading will be fully met.



SOMEWHAT back from the village street
Stands the old-fashioned country-seat.
Across its antique portico
Tall poplar-trees their shadows throw,
And from its station in the hall
An ancient timepiece says to all,-

“ Forever - never!
Never - forever!"

Half-way up the stairs it stands,
And points and beckons with its hands
From its case of massive oak,
Like a monk, who, under his cloak,
Crosses himself, and sighs, alas!
With sorrowful voice to all who pass,-

“ Forever

-never! Never forever!”

By day its voice is low and light;
But in the silent dead of night,
Distinct as a passing footstep's fall,
It echoes along the vacant hall,
Along the ceiling, along the floor,
And seems to say, at each chamber-door,

“ Forever — never!
Never – forever!”

Through days of sorrow and of mirth,
Through days of death and days of birth,
Through every swift vicissitude
Of changeful time, unchanged it has stood,
And as if, like God, it all things saw,
It calmly repeats those words of awe,-

« Forever — never:
Never – forever!”

In that mansion used to be
Free-hearted Hospitality;
His great fires up the chimney roared;
The stranger feasted at his board;
But, like the skeleton at the feast,
That warning timepiece never ceased,

“Forever — never!
Never - forever!”

There groups of merry children played,
There youths and maidens dreaming strayed;
O precious hours ! O golden prime!
And affluence of love and time!
Even as a miser counts his gold,
Those hours the ancient timepiece told, -

- Forever — never!
Never — forever!”

From that chamber, clothed in white,
The bride came forth on her wedding night;
There, in that silent room below,
The dead lay in his shroud of snow;
And in the hush that followed the prayer,
Was heard the old clock on the stair,-

“ Forever - never!
Never - forever!”

All are scattered now and fled,
Some are married, some are dead;
And when I ask, with throbs of pain,
“Ah! when shall they all meet again?”
As in the days long since gone by,
The ancient timepiece makes reply,

“Forever - never!
Never — forever!"

Never here, forever there,
Where all parting, pain and care,
And death and time shall disappear,
Forever there, but never here!
The horologe of eternity
Sayeth this incessantly,-

“ Forever never!
Never— forever!”



I saw him once before,
As he passed by the door;

And again
The pavement-stones resound
As he totters o'er the ground

With his cane.

They say

that in his prime,
Ere the pruning-knife of time

Cut him down,
Not a better man was found
By the crier on his round

Through the town.


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