And ye sall be his bride: "Now let this wilfu' grief be done, "A chain of gold ye sall not lack, And you, the foremost o' them a', Shall ride our forest-queen But aye she loot the tears down fa' For Jock of Hazeldean. The kirk was deck'd at morning-tide, The priest and bridegroom wait the bride, And dame and knight are there. They sought her baith by bower and ha'; The ladie was not seen! She's o'er the Border, and awa' Wi' Jock of Hazeldean. -Walter Scott BREAK, BREAK, BREAK Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, O Sea! And I would that my tongue could utter O well for the fisherman's boy, That he shouts with his sister at play! O well for the sailor lad, That he sings in his boat on the bay! And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill; But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand, Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags, O Sea! But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me. - Alfred Tennyson SWEET AND LOW FROM The Princess Sweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea, Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea! Over the rolling waters go, Come from the dying moon, and blow, Blow him again to me; While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps. Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, Father will come to thee soon; Father will come to his babe in the nest, Silver sails all out of the west, Under the silver moon: Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep. BUGLE SONG FROM The Princess The splendor falls on castle walls And the wild cataract leaps in glory, Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. O hark, O hear! how thin and clear, The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! O love, they die in yon rich sky, They faint on hill or field or river: Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow for ever and for ever. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, TEARS, IDLE TEARS FROM The Princess Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depth of some divine despair. Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy Autumn-fields, And thinking of the days that are no more. Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, That brings our friends up from the underworld, Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge; So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more. Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns The earliest pipe of half-awaken'd birds To dying ears, when unto dying eyes The casement slowly grows a glimmering square; COME INTO THE GARDEN, MAUD Come into the garden, Maud, For the black bat, night, has flown, Come into the garden, Maud, I am here at the gate alone; And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad, For a breeze of morning moves, And the planet of Love is on high, Beginning to faint in the light that she loves To faint in the light of the sun she loves, All night have the roses heard All night has the casement jessamine stirr❜d I said to the lily, "There is but one With whom she has heart to be gay. Low on the sand and loud on the stone I said to the rose, "The brief night goes O young lord-lover, what sighs are those, But mine, but mine," so I sware to the rose, "For ever and ever, mine." And the soul of the rose went into my blood, As the music clash'd in the hall; And long by the garden lake I stood, |