 | The Haunted Glen |  |
ACT SECOND.
SCENE I.
The Glen.—Twilight.Lu and Fairy meeting.
Lu.
Welcome, my little Foambell, here.
How fare thy flocks by frith and meer,
By river, pool, and streamlet clear?
Fairy.
My little breast is rent with pain!
No happy thing on earth may be,
While ruthless man holds sov'reignty.
I chose the sweetest stream that fell
From mountain, glen, and moorland well,
My sinny tribes were in thousands blent;
And I rejoiced, and smiled to see
Each awkward beck and courtesy,
How downward turn'd each full set eye,
As I their Queen went sailing bye.
A carl that waved a sounding wand,
Of marvellous length, whom I did deem
Some earthly guardian of the stream;
But coming nigh, I wept full sore
To see my people dragg'd ashore,
One after one, and two by two,
And welcomed forth with murderous blow,
While their dying throes rejoiced his sight,
For his ugly face had the grin of delight.
I tried to wile them from the snare;
And I angled before him in the brook;
But they wearied of my phantom fly,
And the carl he thrash'd, and waded nigh;
I could not scare them from his hook,
For I cast no shadow on the brook;
Though boardly my frame as man's might be,
“The sun shone through my thin bodye.”
I wist not what to do or say,
For still the carl he plash'd away;
And his rod, that stretch'd o'er half the flood,
It sounded through the air so loud,
That it made me start and pant for breath,
For I knew the sough was the sound of death.
No minute past but one or more
Were dragg'd forth struggling to the shore;
I saw them flutter in wild affright,
And shiver and gasp in piteous plight;
Shone bright and pure, were striped with blood;
Yet no remorse did the carl feel,
But thrust them in his wicker creel.
Of turning pike instead of man;
And aye where his hook the angler threw
I chased away my harmless crew;
Oh, how astonish'd were the throng
When I came gaping them among!
Away they fled to ward the scath,
Fast I pursued with threat of death.
Most gleesome sport I had the while,
But wondered at the carl's wile,
For o'er the ripple he swum his fly,
So sleek and so provokingly,
That scarcely could I myself restrain
From springing at that bait amain;
Nature and form are still allied.
Another fish he could not hook;
He changed his tackle, he changed his fly,
And blamed the colour of the sky;
But baulk'd for once, he went away,
Cursing the fish and hateful day.
Full six times twelve away he bore,
I saw him count them on the shore,
All rest of life, withouten law,
To gorge a miscreant's ravenous maw.
Then sooth, while man has sway below,
My watery charge I must forego.
Lu.
But here comes slender Gossamer,
Like shred of silver through the air.—
What news, thou gentle pitying child,
From mountain, glen, and forest wild?
Ah, woful news! my heart's in pain!
All would be joy in my domain,
The kid and lamb would sport in peace,
The young deer dwell in happiness;
But man—remorseless, ravenous man!
Kills and devours, and stay who can.
The life-blood and the trembling limb
Of parting life are joy to him;
That rank devourer hence restrain,
Or take from me my charge again.
Lu.
Woes me, that those we so much love,
Such troublers should of nature prove:
But here comes one whose placid face
Speaks better things of the human race.—
Welcome, fair Snowflake, back to me;
How thrives sweet virgin purity?
Snow.
Give it not thought!—Give it not name!
Of man, the defacer of all good!
The maiden is pure without a stain,
And pure in mind would aye remain,
But man—I sicken at the thought
Of all the shame that he hath wrought!
There is no art—there is no wile
That may the maiden heart beguile,
And cloud for aye the joyous smile,
Which this destroyer scorns to prove,
This recreant in the paths of love.
Thousands to shame and ruin driven,
Debased on earth—debarr'd from heaven—
Of human forms and souls divine,
Yearly at Love's unholy shrine;
On bloated altar doom'd to lie,
Unblest to bleed, unwept to die.
He boasts his feats and urges on;
To give the virtuous bosom pain,
To Beauty's walks he wends his way,
With shameless stare in open day,
To check the step, abash the eye,
And tint the cheek of modesty.
O Prince, my charge I must disclaim,
While man's rude nature is the same.
Is lately come to sojourn here;
A stranger spirit, bent on ill,
Whom I have watch'd o'er vale and hill;
His purposes we must gainsay,
Else shame may be ere break of day.
Yon cot I mark'd him prying round,
But scared him thence, and there I found
The loveliest maid of mortal race,
In dangerous and in helpless case;
And left it open to the gin;
A dark knight stood her casement nigh,
With burning cheek and greedy eye,
While the unweeting simple maid
Kneel'd on the floor and inly pray'd.
Her light locks o'er her shoulder swung,
Her night-robe round her waist was flung;
Her eyes were raised—her breast of snow
Heaved with devotion's grateful glow;
The speaking lip, the brow erect,
The movement on the polish'd neck;
The blooming cheek, the fervent mien,
Were all so comely, so serene,
The breeze of earth did ne'er embrace
Such pure angelic loveliness.
And braved the blood-hound's surly look;
I fled, provoked, and led the way
Straight to the base and wicked clown;
The ban-dog seized and pulled him down;
Aloud he cried, and fought for life,
And rough and bloody was the strife.
Forthwith I glided by the knight,
Who follow'd fast, and begg'd and pray'd,
But still I flew along the glade;
Just when his arms were stretch'd to press
My waist with hellish eagerness,
A quagmire deep I led him in,
And left him struggling to the chin.
Thus far, full deftly have I sped,
Protecting maidhood's guiltless bed;
But ah! if man, the lord below,
Continue still as he is now,
Light balance in the scale of love.
The loveliest flower on Leven side
In her bed-chamber laid to rest,
A sweet babe cradled on her breast;
Such fondness melted in her eye—
Affection's holiest purity!
When with her breast the elfin play'd,
His round cheek to that bosom laid,
That I was moved, and ween'd, if bliss
Be found in life's imperfectness,—
If pure affection's from above,—
If “Love is Heaven, and Heaven is Love,”
All love, all fondness is outdone
By mother's o'er her only son;
That glow is bright, its workings kind,
Calm, chasten'd, ardent, yet refined.
And think of guarding maids no more.
Song by Lu.
Never, gentle spirits, never
Yield your cares of human kind!
Can you leave the lonely river,
From the moonlight valley sever,
All your guardian love resign'd?
Thrown aside, and scorn'd the giver?
Never, gentle spirits, never!
Chorus of Fairies.
Never till the dawn of day,
Dawn of truth that shine shall ever,
Will we quit our polar way;
Over green-wood, glen, and brae,
Over tree,
Over lea,
Over rock, and over river,
Over cairn and cloud to quiver;
Never, gentle spirits, never!
Never!—Never!
SCENE II.
Inside of the Cottage.Simon holding down a great Dog.
Sim.
Murder! murder! holloa!—Blood, and fire,
and desolation, ho!—Come a' here! Come a' here,
for the sake o' man, and life, and death, and—
Murder! murder! Ho!
Enter Cairney.
Cair.
What's the matter wi' ye, callant? What
ails ye?
What ails me! That's sic a question to
speer! Dinna ye see that I'm worried? Isna that
aneugh to ail me?—Worried to death—a' torn to
pieces, and chew'd to bird's-meat—and yet to come
and speer what ails me.—Come directly, and help
me to kill this devil!
Cair.
Let the dog gae, fool.—I'll command him
off.—Burly, get off, thief—Hame to your hole, dragon!
—Son, what were you seeking here?
Sim.
Hush! I may tell you—I was watching that
witch, Lula—I had gotten ae door opened, and another
unsneckit ere ever she heard a jerg; and I
was just ready to seize on her the moment she lay
down—
Cair.
And I was waiting to gi' ye help, provided
ye needit it.
Sim.
War ye, my dear dad? O that dog!—that
confoundit dog! we might hae had her bund hand
and fit afore this time, and brunt afore day-light.
Was it to kill her that you were watching
her?
Sim.
I wad like to hae her bund at ony rate. I
carena what come o' her, if I'm in hands wi' her
ony way; I wad just do ought till her that I could
get done.—But I'm gane now—There's no a hale
inch in my bouk.
Cair.
How in the wide world did the dog come
here to attact you, the very man he likes best?
Sim.
O, father, she's a witch—a rank witch—I saw
by her look that she's a witch; and I'll swear till't;
for her ee was set in her head, her lip was gaun, and
the veins o' her neck war a' stirring and heaving,
like wee moudieworts aneath the snaw.
Cair.
The behaviour of the dog is ayont my comprehension.
Sim.
O, father, she's a real witch!—if ye wad but
haud her till I scored her aboon the breath, or
gart her say the verse, ye wad see.—I'm a' rinnin'
witched, and drawn to her by some invisible strength.
And I'm sure naething short o' suppernatral power
could hae gart the hound brik his chain, and come
a' the gate here to worry me.
Cair.
It looks a little odd, I do confess.
Enter Lula.
Sim.
O, ye witch! ye unfernal correspondent!
Are ye there, wi' your angel face, and your wicked
devices? Ye hae a weel-faur'd polished outside—Ye
hae a brow, and a neck, and a breast, bonnier war
never seen; but the heart within is blacker than the
craw's wing. O, ye wild enchanter! ye hae power
o'er men and dogs!—See what ye hae done!—See
what ye hae brought me to. But ye shall never see
the light of day, if green widdy will bind, or red
lowe burn ye.
Heaven shield thy wits!—Dear Simon,
what is this?
Sim.
Dear Simon! Dear Simon!—Father, do ye
hear that?—O what will come o' me?—It is here
still!—Blood canna sloken't—Water canna drown't
—The tooth o' the maskiss dog canna gnaw it out
o' me! It is here still, lowing and scowdering me
up like a moorburn!—Dear Simon, she says!
Lula.
Indeed I do call you dear Simon. You
little know the regard I have for you, if you would
but behave yourself. Tell me then, seriously, what
brought you here?
Sim.
Gudefaith, that's a plumper!—Father, what
shall I say now?—I think I be stupid!—What
brought me here? Ye ken that o'er weel!—It was
yoursel, wi' your witchery, and your enchantments,
and your black art of Oxford. Confess your cantrips,
ye witch o' Bethel, that ye pat a weed in my
shoe, or drappit my doublet neist the heart wi' your
drew me here—ye draggit me here by a force ayont
the power o' man to broostle wi'—and ye hae the
'frontery to speer “what brought me here!”
Lula.
I draw you here! What raving is this?—
What does it mean?
Sim.
Ay, and wha was't brought the dog here—
the mangrel blood-hound, wi' his teeth like brogue-elshins,
to tear me, his master, to pieces? Was there
aught o' nature there?—Can ye deny that too?
Lula.
(Aside.)
Cairney, what does this mean? I
fear he is gone mad.
Cair.
Whisht, lassie! dinna let him hear.—He's
bitten.
Enter Knight, covered with mire.
Knight.
I have you now, Dame Lightfoot.—You have sped
Too well in your cursed plot. Was ever man
O, I'll have sweet revenge on you for this!
Lula.
I'm all amazement! How am I to blame?
How came you thus?
Knight.
So thou art mocking, art thou?
Deceitful minx! I'll drag you to the gulf
To which I was decoy'd, and treat you there
As your deservance merits.
Lula.
(Aside.)
O, Cairney, he is bitten too!
Cair.
I trow sae.—Did ye see aught o' my dog,
sir—a muckle gollaring hallanshaker beast like
yoursel, that whiles gangs snaiking about i' the
night-time?
Knight.
Hence with you, old bell-weather.—Come, dame,
I have to deal with you—You go with me.
Sim.
You! You tak away that lassie! Ye had better
no try't, gin ye like.—Chewed as I am, I'll maybe
ere that take place.
Enter Spirit, who has been lingering near.
Spirit.
(Aside.)
Now I'm invisible, I will
Have my sport, and have my fill;
With this elfin spear of mine,
I will prick him to the spine—
Take you that for curse and crime,
We shall meet another time.
(He wounds the Knight with a small lancet, who, turning round and seeing no one, knocks down Simon, and kicks him.)
Sim.
Holloa! Gie owre!—Deil's i' the carl!—
What is't ails the clairty thief?—Ill-faurd, glaury-like
tike, that ye are; whaten a gate's that to guide
fock i' their ain house?—We're a' witched thegither
—a' horn mad!—Ane lying thrawing his neck
like a half-worried tod—anither a' draiggled, and
her and canna get away, like laverocks owre an
edder.—O, ye witch! ye vilde witch! was't no
eneugh that I shoud be a' ae blister frae head to fit,
that ye boude to bring that muckle, dirty, hangit-like
whalp wi' your black airt, and eigg him up to
fa' to and mell on me! Oh, may the deil tak a'
witches an' worrying tikes, and nasty draiggle-tailed
gentlemen! Muckle hing-luggit, croudy-looking
thief!
(Knight kicks Simon, who cries out.)
Sim.
Oh! Ugh! Cease! Gie owre, I tell ye!
Damn the body! Ugh!
Enter Eps.
Eps.
Master, hae ye nouther mense nor good
manners? What's the matter, Cairney? Lula, my
bonny bairn, tell me what maks a' the stir at this
time o' night?
Alas, Eps! the muckle mangrel maskiss
has gaen mad, and bitten poor Sim, an' he's infected.
Eps.
O alack that ever I saw the day! What will
I do for my dear bairn? Cut out the bit, my man;
haste ye and cut out the bit.
Sim.
Hear till her now! Hear what she's saying!
The mair ane hears o' women he'll think the less o'
them! How can I cut out the bit when I'm a' bitten
owre the hale body? Ye may cut me a' out, an'
what kind of a son wad ye hae then? I might live
wanting a wee piece flesh, but I think I could hardly
do without the halewore o't. That's women's wit!
That's like ane o' their grand cures!—
(Leans forward
wardon the floor in a desponding way.)
—Aih wow! but
it is an awsome thing this! It never strak me afore,
but I see an' find it is a' owre true! Mad!—to gae
mad!—
(Weeps and cries out in despair.)
—Oh dreadfu'!
dreadfu'! to think o' ganging mad, and rinning
yauffing, and youlling, and froaing at the weiks o'
hint-legs o' the kye to pit them wud—and then to
be bund and smoored atween twa tikabeds—or drink
poison out of a lang laddle, an' a' the while biting
pieces out o't wi' my teeth—Oh, oh!— (Cries.)
—To
think that in a day, or an hour, I maun be rinnin'
setting up my reid een glentin like burning candles,
and whan ought comes near me to nurr and gurr.—
(Grins and howls like a dog.)
Eps.
O mercifu' heaven, it is coming on him already!
—My poor bairn!—What shall we do?
Sim.
And then to set up my gab to the lift, and
yauff, and bark, and bough-wough like a hund!
(Growls and barks like a dog, and springs forward on all four to bite the Knight's legs—He escapes, and is seized by the mastiff without—a great tumult is heard.)
Eps.
Haste, Cairney, gie the man some help or
he'll be killed.
Keep fast the door, or ye're a' gane thegither
—Let him tak it—time about's fair play—Deil
that he rive him a' to collops—what's he seeking
here?—Oh me! oh me! oh me!
Eps.
Hae patience, my poor man, Providence
will maybe hae mercy on ye yet.
Sim.
Let us alane o' your patience and providence,
mither—they're nae doctrines for a man gaun
mad. Ye'll soon see me rinning i' the lone hinging
by the kye wi' my teeth—ye may crack o' your providence
then.
Cair.
Get up, get up, Simon, an' tak heart.
Sim.
Na, na, I downa get up; it's mair feasible-like
to gang on four this way.
Cair.
Tell me how you feel, and what you feel
inclined to do. Wad ye like to bark, an' bite, an'
devour?
Sim.
I think I wad—I wad just like to flee on
aboon Lula there, and worry her.
You really feel inclined to do her a mischief?
Sim.
Ay, that I do!—I wad rather do good to
her than ill, if I could get it done; but I wad rather
be doing ill to her than naething ava'.
Eps.
I trow there's mair nature than madness in
that, an' I hope a' will be weel yet.—Come and let
us put you to bed, my poor luckless man.
Lula.
And I'll bathe your wounds, and dress them,
and watch with you, Simon, for my heart is sore for
you.
Sim.
Will you indeed, sweet Lula? Ah, ye are a
bit dear lassie for a' that's come and gane! But it's
a' ane to me—Shame, worrying, love, madness—
ony ane o' them's eneugh—but a' put thegither! Oh
dear! Oh dear!
(Exeunt.)
SCENE III.
A deep Dell.Knight sitting disconsolate.
Knight.
Sure there's some power unseen, unmeet for man
To cope with, watches o'er that witching thing.
First by a stripling I was stunn'd, and laid
Flat without motion; next to slough decoy'd,
Bay'd by a madman—by a blood-hound torn.
If I escape infection from the fangs
Of that outraged monster, I shall never
Strive for possession of that maiden more,
Though my heart burn within me.
Spirit.
Then my sport will all be done;
Knight, before the rising sun,
Wet and weary, rack'd with pain,
You shall seek that maid again.
Sings.
My love's bonny as bonny can be;
Though she loves another far better than me,
Yet the dream wears kind in the morning.
And I will kiss my bonny bonny bride;
And I'll whisper a vow whatever betide,
To my little flower in the morning.
Of dew that is blown from the rown-tree flower;
O never were the sweets of roseate bower
Like my love's cheek in the morning!
Her hair is the flue of the raven's wing,
To her bonny breast O how I'll cling!
While sleeping so sound in the morning.
Knight.
Holloa! who goes there?
Spirit.
(Aside, imitating.)
Holloa! who goes there?
(To him.)
A true man, sir, or one that may soon be
so—an honest blithe youth, and a lover to boot;—
fa lal de ral all, &c.
(Sings and skips about.)
Knight.
You a man? You a lover? An elfin brat,
by the soul of King Cowl! But if thou art a devil,
thou art a merry one. Pray, master lover, what
capering about in the woods, and singing by the
light of the moon?
Spirit
sings.
By the wan light o' the moon,
By the wan light o' the moon,
He staw into his love's window
By a blink o' the dowy moon.
But wae be to the fause grey cock,
For he craw'd an hour owre soon;
The lassie thought it day when she sent her love away,
But it was but a blink o' the moon.
[Spirit.]
I am going a wooing, sweet sir, but, like the grey
cock, I'm an hour o'er soon. O that the time were
come, for my heart is like to flutter out of its little
tenement!
Knight.
You going a wooing?
Ay, sir, I; and I'll come speed too.—I
know my time—O that it were come!—Pray, sir,
did you ever see this flower of all the world that has
made its appearance at that white cottage in the
glen?
Knight.
Ay, forsooth!
Spirit.
It is there I go—O my heart is all on
flame when I think of her, and the joys that await
me there! I have heard her sentiments of love and
lovers, and I shall not use her as the silly Knight of
Auchingaur has done. Goodbye, sir; farewell.
Knight.
Holloa!—Stop, sweet youth—Come near
me, if you please, and let me look at you—Who the
devil are you?
Spirit.
It is not material—fal lal, &c.—O, sweet
adorable Lady Lula! What a mean-spirited lifeless
driveller he must be, your Knight of Auchingaur!
Were I but loved and desired as he has been, I
would not lose such blest opportunities, nor shall
of him!
Knight.
Do you know that knight, sir?
Spirit.
No, but it matters not; he must be a man
of wood—a piece of cold clay soil baked up, without
the leaven of life or animation. If he had heard
what I have heard from her own lips! or seen what
I have seen!—O were I but that knight!—But as
it is, I'll have her myself—Goodbye, sweet sir.
Pray, why do you sit watching and writhing here?
—But it is all one—I care not.
He's nae man ava;
He's no worth a flee, to let
The bonny lass awa'.
An' kiss her lips sae sweet?
I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought!
In troth I'm like to greet!
An' the poor shilly-shally knight, &c.
(Exit singing.)
Knight.
A plague go with thee, atom of impertinence!
What skip-jack is this? Well, go thy ways,
jews-ear: if thou art not worried like a rabbit ere
thou gainest the door, I bode wrong.—But what a
piece of intelligence! I was sure the girl affected
me—she could not hide that; but I never weened
that I had baulk'd her expectations so much.—I
now know my cue, and she shall not again complain
of me.—But let me consider—Can I go home tonight,
and another gone avowedly to steal on her
rest, while she is perhaps dreaming of me? No; wet,
weary, and torn as I am, I must go back the way I
I joyfully predict, then shall I take his place; but
if I find him where his betters should be, I'll mince
him! I will!—Oh me!
(He halts away.)
SCENE III.
Inside of the Cottage.Cairney sitting drowsy by the fire—to him enter the Spirit.
Spirit.
Bid you good-morrow, honest carl.
Cair.
Hoh! avoid ye, in the name of Saint Aaron!
Wha the foul thief are ye, callant? Keep your ain
side o' the house, an' it be your will.
Spirit.
Hush, goodman! I am a wooer, an honest
youth, and the son of an old friend.
I little wot about ye, lad—ye hae an unco
wan-yirdly like look—an' how gat ye in here?
Spirit.
I came by the casement.
Cair.
The deil o' there ye cam. Keep to the lee
o' the low awee, and come nae within the breath o'
auld Cairney—he's fortified—he has
Rowan-tree an' red thread,
To pit the spirits to their speed.
Ely away afore I bring them a' an' extinguish ye.
Ye're either a brownie, a fairie, or a willie-an'-the-wisp
—if ye ken o' a hidden pose, speak, but otherwise,
ely.
Spirit.
I tell you, goodman, I am a wooer, and
a friend, and I have gained young Lula's consent,
provided you agree. I came here to ask her of you,
and afterwards to see herself, but was benighted;—
trust me, I am honest, and son to an old friend of
your own.
He has a daft-like son o'ye, man—but keep
your ain side o' the ingle, and say what ye like—I
hae help at hand, an' deil a feared I'm for ony sic
wizzling.
Spirit.
Give me then your consent to wed Lula.
Cair.
Na, na, lad; Lula has other tow to teaze.
Spirit.
That is ungenerous—She has told me all
her views in life, and transferred me to you.
Cair.
And pray, sweet young man, what are her
views in life? When I hae learn'd these I may consent.
Spirit.
She said she had long loved your son, and
on that account had lingered here; but that he had
proved himself to be unworthy of a maiden's love—
that he might long ago have had possession of her
person, which, since he had declined, she disdained
him, and would now yield herself up to me.
Cair.
The very words I aye said! Od, callant, ye
hae some insight, however ye cam be it—But or the
if I get my will. Silly dult! he'll gang creepin'
and whinin' about, an' trying to pit down himsel, and
fighting wi' dogs, but he'll never do as he should do.
Gang about your bisiness, callant—it is a shame for
the like o' you to be gaun snouking after the women
at this time o' night—dirty, menseless, ill-bred
thing!
Spirit.
Well, goodbye, old churl; I shall have her
in spite of you, and that “ere twice the sun meet
with the sea.”
Cair.
The deil ye will!—I'll turn your nose to
green cheese or that come about—Whaten an ill-faurd
weazel-blawn urf is that, bouting in on fock
i'the night time like something that's no canny: I'll
gang an' see how the twa are coming on, an' if Sim
be really gaun mad, or only put a wee hair-brained
wi' mishanters.
SCENE IV.
The Grove.Enter Lu and Fairies.
Lu.
Fairies, the night wears on apace;
There's a paleness spread on the heaven's face,
A silvery haze so mild to see,
As lambent and as pure as we.
Soon will we mount with blithsome sway
Through these bright paths on our spiral way,
On the locks of the morning star to swing,
Or the veil of the sky for the dew to wring;
To gallop the blue so lightsome and boon;
Or braid the fair tresses of beauty so bright,
That wanton and wave at the horns of the moon,
They are half of them æther and half of them light.
To follow the moonlight west away,
O Spirits, advise what shall be done,
This loveliest flower beneath the sun,
From shame, from sin, and from sorrow to win?
Dew.
Bear her away
'Twixt the night and the day;
We Spirits have might
When we work for the right,
And each of us as much weight can bear
Of aught corporeal through the air,
As the swallow can carry on wing opprest,
Or the merle upbear to her downy nest.
Then bear her away
'Twixt the night and the day,
For she is too pure in this world to stay.
Lu.
That may not be—By rite divine,
In holy church, and at holy shrine,
And named by a name to which we bow.
Or she must change with free good will,
Or be as she is for good or for ill;
Should I her gain, say shall she be
The Queen of the Fairies, and queen to me?
Dew.
Treason and pain!
Speak not again!
Trial and penance must long remain!
Bonny Philany, Snowflake, and Foam;
Rainbow, Rainbow, blink and go home!
Phil.
(Aside.)
Regard not, Prince, that freakish thing,
From jealousy her ravings spring;
One we must have, whatever befal,
To-morrow is our great festival,
And nought but mortal virgin's hand
Must crown thee King of the Fairy land;
From us and ours no more to sever.
Lu.
Would that the time were not so soon!
It is not yet the wane of the moon.
Phil.
Prince, I have a word to say to thee—
Your troubled mind and eye I see;
But if you dare to harbour a thought
Of yielding a crown so dearly bought,
With all the joys of the moonlight dell,
And the fervent beings that love you so well,
For the sake of a flower that will soon decay,
A piece of fair well-moulded clay,
We'll pick these bright eyes from your head,
And there we'll fix two eyes of lead;
We'll pull the heart from thy breast bone,
And there we'll lodge a heart of stone;
So take thou care, lest some espy
The thoughts that in thy bosom lie.
Nor thought nor wish I'll hide from you:
Either that maiden here I must have,
Or return to the world, to death, and the grave.
O haste thee, Snowflake, haste and glide
To yon little cot by the green-wood side,
And watch yon maid till the break of day,
For I hear the watch-dog's angry bay;
Watch by her pillow, and look to her bed,
For I fear that beauty is hard bested.
Lean to the breeze, and ride in array
Over the land and the sea so fleet,
Over the rain, and the hail, and the sleet,
Keep aye the sun far under your feet;
The morning behind, and the stars by your side,
The moon-beam your path, and her crescent your guide,
Suits best with the fairies' airy frame!
And meet we again to-morrow at even,
When the first star peeps through the veil of heaven;
And here such a palace of light shall be
As the world ne'er saw and never will see:
For there shall be lamps and glories in store,
And a thousand stars, and a thousand more;
And there shall the ruby and onyx be seen,
The amethyst blue, and the emerald green,
With millions of gems of varied flame,
That have no likeness and have no name.
And our columns shall reach to the middle sky,
And the throne shall stand as the pine-tree high;
Soft music shall flow of the spheres above,
The songs of gladness, and songs of love;
And our feast shall begin with glory and glee,
But little we know what the end shall be!
In cottage, bught, or pen!
An' weel befa' the bonny May
That wons in yonder glen;
Wha lo'es the good and true sae weel—
Wha's aye sae kind, and aye sae leal,
An' pure as blooming asphodel
Amang sae mony men.
O weel befa' the bonny thing
That wons in yonder glen!
There's hinny in the haw,
There's dew within the rose's breast,
The sweetest o' them a'.
The sun may rise and set again,
The rainbow bend attour the plain
Sae lovely to the ken;
But there's naething like my bonny thing
That wons in yonder glen.
Alang the gloaming lea;
'Tis sweet to hear the blackbird's note
Come pealing frae the tree;
To see the lambkin's lightsome race;
The speckled kid in wanton chace;
The young deer cower in lonely place
Deep in his flowery den;
But what is like the bonny face
That smiles in yonder glen!
| The Haunted Glen | |