The book of British ballads . marching gainst the Lord of Downe,He left the skirts of huge Benmore. Thou only sawst their tartans wave,As down Benvoirlichs side they wound, Heardst but the pibroch, answering braveTo many a target clanking round. < I heard the groans, I markd the tears, I saw the wound his bosom bore,When on the serried Saxon spearsHe pourd his clans resistless roar. And thou, who bidst me think of bliss,And bidst my heart awake to glee, And court, like thee, the wanton kiss —That heart, O Ronald, bleeds for thee! < I see the death-damps chill thy brow ; I hear thy Warnin
The book of British ballads . marching gainst the Lord of Downe,He left the skirts of huge Benmore. Thou only sawst their tartans wave,As down Benvoirlichs side they wound, Heardst but the pibroch, answering braveTo many a target clanking round. < I heard the groans, I markd the tears, I saw the wound his bosom bore,When on the serried Saxon spearsHe pourd his clans resistless roar. And thou, who bidst me think of bliss,And bidst my heart awake to glee, And court, like thee, the wanton kiss —That heart, O Ronald, bleeds for thee! < I see the death-damps chill thy brow ; I hear thy Warning Spirit cry ;The corpse-lights dance—theyre gone, and nowNo more is given to gifted eye ! Alone enjoy thy dreary dreams, Sad prophet of the evil hour !Say, should we scorn joys transient beams, Because to-morrows storm may lour ? Or false, or sooth, thy words of woe,Clangillians Chieftain neer shall fear; His blood shall bound at raptures glow,Though doomd to stain the Saxon spear. H. J. Townsend del. J Walmsley sc. 247. (ffirfenfinlas. Een now, to meet me in yon dell,My Marys buskins brush the dew. He spoke, nor bade the Chief farewell,But calld his dogs, and gay withdrew. Within an hour returnd each hound; In rushd the rousers of the deer;They howld in melancholy sound, Then closely couchd beside the seer. No Ronald yet; though midnight came,And sad were Moys prophetic dreams, As, bending oer the dying flame, He fed the watch-fires quivering gleams. Sudden the hounds erect their ears, And sudden cease their moaning howl ; Close pressd to Moy, they mark their fearsBy shivering limbs, and stifled growl. Untouchd, the harp began to ring,As softly, slowly, oped the door; And shook responsive every string,As light a footstep pressd the floor. And by the watch-fires glimmering light,Close by the minstrels side was seen An huntress maid, in beauty bright,All dropping wet her robes of green. All dropping wet her garments seem ; Chilld was her cheek, her bosom bare,As, bending oe
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