XIV. WHO fancied what a pretty sight Was it the humour of a Child? Or rather of some love-sick Maid, I asked-'twas whispered, The device, That prompts such work, a Spirit strong, Where life is wise and innocent. Roar down many a craggy steep, Yet they find among the mountains Though, as if with eagle pinion If on windy days the Raven VOL. I. T Though the Sea-horse in the ocean Own no dear domestic cave; Yet he slumbers without motion On the calm and silent wave. Day and night my toils redouble! Of the Wanderer leave my soul. XVI. THE SEVEN SISTERS, OR THE SOLITUDE OF BINNORIE. SEVEN Daughters had Lord Archibald, All Children of one Mother: I could not say in one short day He loved the Wars so well. Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully, The Solitude of Binnorie! Fresh blows the wind, a western wind, And from the shores of Erin, Across the wave, a Rover brave To Binnorie is steering: Right onward to the Scottish strand The gallant ship is borne; The Warriors leap upon the land, And hark! the Leader of the Band Hath blown his bugle horn. Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully, Beside a Grotto of their own, The Seven are laid, and in the shade They lie like Fawns reposing. But now, upstarting with affright At noise of Man and Steed, Away they fly to left to right Of your fair household, Father Knight, Methinks you take small heed! Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully, The Solitude of Binnorie. |