Lady Clara Vere de Vere, You put strange memories in my head. Not thrice your branching limes have blown Since I beheld young Laurence dead. Oh your sweet eyes, your low replies; A great enchantress you may be ; But there was that across his throat Which you had hardly cared to see. Lady Clara Vere de Vere, When thus he met his mother's view, She had the passions of her kind, She spake some certain truths of you. Indeed I heard one bitter word That scarce is fit for you to hear; Her manners had not that repose Which stamps the caste of Vere de Vere. Lady Clara Vere de Vere, There stands a spectre in your hall: The guilt of blood is at your door: You changed a wholesome heart to gall. You held your course without remorse, To make him trust his modest worth, And, last, you fix'd a vacant stare, And slew him with your noble birth. Trust me, Clara Vere de Vere, From yon blue heavens above us bent, The grand old gard'ner and his wife Smile at the claims of long descent. Howe'er it be, it seems to me, 'Tis only noble to be good. Kind hearts are more than coronets, I know you, Clara Vere de Vere: You pine among your halls and towers : You know so ill to deal with time, You needs must play such pranks as these. Clara, Clara Vere de Vere, If time be heavy on your hands, Are there no beggars at your gate, Nor any poor about your lands ? Oh! teach the orphan-boy to read, Or teach the orphan-girl to sew ; Pray heaven for a human heart, And let the foolish yeoman go. TENNYSON. LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER. A CHIEFTAIN-to the Highlands bound, Cries," Boatman, do not tarry! And I'll give thee a silver pound, "Now, who be ye would cross Loch-Gyle, 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 horsemen-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, It is not for your silver bright, "And by my word! the bonny bird By this, the storm grew loud apace, Grew dark as they were speaking. But still, as wilder grew 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; The boat has left the stormy land, When, oh! too strong for human hand, And still they rowed, amidst the roar Lord Ullin reached the fatal shore,- For, sore dismayed, through storm and shade One lovely hand she stretched for aid, "Come back! come back!" he cried in grief, "Across the stormy water: And I'll forgive your Highland chief: My daughter! oh, my daughter!" 'Twas vain the loud waves lashed the shore, Return, or aid preventing : The waters wild went o'er his child, And he was left lamenting. CAMPBELL. THE MISHAP. "WHY art thou weeping, sister? "I know thy will is froward, "I know how much you loved him ; 66 Then tell me why those tear-drops ? Say, has the tax collector Been calling, and been rude? |