There came a man, by middle day,
He spied his sport and went his way,
And brought the king that very night
Who broke my bower and slew my
knight.

He slew my knight to me so dear;
He slew my knight and poin'd his gear ;
My servants all for life did flee,
And left me in extremitie.

;

I sew'd his sheet, making my moan;
I watch'd his corpse, myself alone
I watch'd his body, night and day;
No living creature came that way.

I took his body on my back,
And whiles I gaed and whiles I sat ;
I digg'd a grave and laid him in,
And happ'd him with the sod so green.

But think na ye my heart was sair
When I laid the mould on his yellow hair;
Think nae ye my heart was wae,
When I turn'd about, away to gae?

That sips the silver dew;

Who died for love of you,

Amid the falling gloom of night,

Her startling fancy found
In ev'ry bush his hov'ring shade,
His groan in every sound.

Alone, appall'd, thus had she pass'd
The visionary vale,
When lo! the deathbell smote her ear,
Sad sounding in the gale.

[steps Just then she reach'd with trembling Her aged mother's door: "He's gone," she cried, "and I shall see That angel face no more!

"I feel, I feel this breaking heart

Beat high against my side!" From her white arm down sunk her head, She shiver'd, sigh'd, and died.

Each haughty faction shall obey, And whigs and tories join; Submit to your despotic sway, Confess your right divine.

Yet this, my gracious monarch, own,
They're tyrants that oppress;
'Tis mercy must support your throne,
And 'tis like heaven to bless.

[ROBERT BLAIR. 1699-1746.]

OFT IN THE LONE CHURCHYARD.

OFT, in the lone church-yard at night I've seen,

By glimpse of moon-shine chequering through the trees,

The school-boy with his satchel in his hand,

Whistling aloud to bear his courage up, And lightly tripping o'er the long flat (With nettles skirted, and with moss o'erstones, That tell in homely phrase who lie below. grown,)

Sudden he starts, and hears, or thinks he hears,

The sound of something purring at his Full fast he flies, and dares not look heels;

behind him,

madness.

vain

STRENGTH IN THE GRAVE. STRENGTH too-thou surly, and less gentle boast

Of those that loud laugh at the village ring;

A fit of common sickness pulls thee down

With greater ease, than e'er thou didst the stripling

That rashly dared thee to th' unequal fight.

What groan was that I heard?-deep groan indeed!

With anguish heavy laden; let me trace it :

From yonder bed it comes, where the strong man,

By stronger arm belabour'd, gasps for breath

Like a hard-hunted beast. How his great

heart