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The bride kiss'd the goblet; the knight took it up,
He quaff'd off the wine, and he threw down the cup!
She look'd down to blush, and she look'd 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 match'd our fair cousin with young Lochinvar."

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, When they reach'd 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 Græmes of the Netherby clan;

Fosters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they

ran;

There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lea, 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!

ALLEN-A-DALE.

BY SIR WALTER SCOTT.

ALLEN-A-DALE has no faggot 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 has 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!

JOHN LITTLEJOHN.

BY CHARLES MACKAY.

JOHN LITTLEJOHN was stanch and strong,
Upright and downright, scorning wrong ;
He gave good weight, and paid his way,
He thought for himself, and he said his say;
Whenever a rascal strove to pass,

Instead of silver, a coin of brass,

He took his hammer, and said with a frown, "The coin is spurious, nail it down."

John Littlejohn was firm and true,

You could not cheat him in "two and two;"
When foolish arguers, might and main,
Darkened and twisted the clear and plain,
He saw through the mazes of their speech,
The simple truth beyond their reach;
And crushing their logic, said, with a frown,
"Your coin is spurious, nail it down."

John Littlejohn maintained the right,

Through storm and shine, in the world's despite ;
When fools or quacks desired his vote,
Dosed him with arguments learned by rote,
Or by coaxing, threats, or promise tried
To gain his support to the wrongful side,

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Nay, nay," said John, with an angry frown, "Your coin is spurious, nail it down."

When told that kings had a right divine,
And that the people were herds of swine,
That nobles alone were fit to rule,
That the poor were unimproved by school,
That ceaseless toil was the proper fate
Of all but the wealthy and the great,
John shook his head, and said, with a frown,
"The coin is spurious, nail it down."

When told that events might justify
A false and crooked policy;

That a decent hope of future good

Might excuse departure from rectitude;

That a lie, if white, was of small offence,
To be forgiven by men of sense,

"Nay, nay," said John, with a sigh and a frown, "The coin is spurious, nail it down."

THE ANGEL'S WHISPER.

BY SAMUEL Lover.

A BABY was sleeping, its mother was weeping,

For her husband was far on the wild raging sea; And the tempest was swelling round the fisherman's dwelling,

And she cried, "Dermot, darling, oh! come back to me."

Her beads while she numbered, the baby still slumbered,

And smiled in her face, while she bended her knee. "Oh! blessed be that warning, my child, thy sleep adorning,

For I know that the angels are whispering with thee.

"And while they are keeping bright watch o'er thy sleeping,

Oh! pray to them softly, my baby, with me; And say thou wouldst rather they'd watched o'er thy father,

For I know that the angels are whispering with thee."

The dawn of the morning saw Dermot returning,

And the wife wept with joy her babe's father to see, And closely caressing her child, with a blessing, Said, "I knew that the angels were whispering with thee."

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