. The poetical works of Sir Walter Scott, baronet; ed. with a careful revision of the text. hts to his betrothed Edith, turn— O, how here his love and heart are given,And there his faith stands plight to Heaven !No drowsy ward tis his to seldom lovers long for sung his midnight hymn the owl,Answered the dog-fox with his waked the king — at his Ronald stretched himself to rest. What spell was good King Roberts, say. To drive the weary night away ? His was the patriots burning thought Of freedoms battle bravely fought. Of castles st
. The poetical works of Sir Walter Scott, baronet; ed. with a careful revision of the text. hts to his betrothed Edith, turn— O, how here his love and heart are given,And there his faith stands plight to Heaven !No drowsy ward tis his to seldom lovers long for sung his midnight hymn the owl,Answered the dog-fox with his waked the king — at his Ronald stretched himself to rest. What spell was good King Roberts, say. To drive the weary night away ? His was the patriots burning thought Of freedoms battle bravely fought. Of castles stormed, of cities freed, Of deep design and daring deed, Of Englands roses reft and torn, And Scotlands cross in triumph worn, Of rout and rally, war and truce, — As heroes think, so thought the Bruce. No marvel, mid such musings high Sleep shunned the monarchs thoughtful over Coolins eastern headThe grayish light begins to spread,The otter to his cavern clamored shrill the wakening mew;Then watched the page — to needful restThe kingf resigned his anxious 390 SCOTTS POETICAL WORKS. XXVIII. To Allans eyes was harder taskThe weary watch their safeties trimmed the fire and gave to shineWith bickering light the splintered pine;Then gazed awhile where silent laidTheir hosts were shrouded by the little fear waked in his mind,For he was bred of martial kind,And, if to manhood he match the boldest knight thought he of his mothers tower,His little sisters greenwood bower,How there the Easter-gambols of Dan Josephs lengthened still before his weary eyeIn rays prolonged the blazes die —Again he roused him — on the lakeLooked forth where now the twilight-flakeOf pale cold dawn began to Coolins cliffs the mist lay furled,The morning breeze the lake had short dark waves, heaved to the ceaseless plash kissed cliff or sand; —It was a slumbrous sound — he turnedTo tales
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