Sir Walter Scott

It was an English ladye bright,
(The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,)And she would marry a Scottish knight,
For Love will still be lord of all.
Blithely they saw the rising sun

"O hone a rie'!
O hone a rie!"The pride of Albin's line is o'er,
And fall'n Glenartney's stateliest tree;
We ne'er shall see Lord Ronald more!" -O, sprung from great Macgillianore

In peace,
Love tunes the shepherd’s reed;
In war, he mounts the warrior’s steed;
In halls, in gay attire is seen;

I.
Time rolls his ceaseless course.
The race of yore,
Who danced our infancy upon their knee

I.
While great events were on the gale,
And each hour brought a varying tale,
And the demeanour, changed and cold

From a rude isle, his ruder lineage came.
The spark, that, from a suburb hovel's hearth Ascending, wraps some capital in flame,
Hath not a meaner or more sordid birth.
And for the soul that bade him waste the earth—

Woman's faith, and woman's trust—Write the characters in the dust;
Stamp them on the running stream,
Print them on the moon's pale beam,
And each evanescent

Enchantress, farewell, who so oft hast decoy'd me,
At the close of the evening through woodlands to roam,
Where the forester, 'lated, with wonder espied
Explore the wild scenes he was quitting for home.

Addressed to the Right Hon.
Lady Anne Hamilton.
When princely Hamilton's
Ennobled Cadyow's Gothic towers

To the Lords of Convention 'twas Clavers who spoke. 'Ere the King's crown shall fall there are crowns to be broke; So let each Cavalier who loves honour and me, Come follow the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.
Come fill up my cup, come fill up my…

Stern eagle of the far north-west,
Thou that bearest in thy grasp the thunderbolt,
Thou whose rushing pinions stir ocean to madness,
Thou the destroyer of herds, thou the scatterer of navies,

Where shall the lover rest
Whom the fates sever From his true maiden’s breast
Parted for ever? Where, through groves deep and high
Sounds the far billow, Where early violets die

I climbed the dark brow of the mighty Hellvellyn,
Lakes and mountains beneath me gleamed misty and wide;
All was still, save by fits, when the eagle was yelling,
And starting around me the echoes replied.

The sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill,
In Ettrick's vale, is sinking sweet;
The westland wind is hush and still,
The lake lies sleeping at my feet.

I.
From heavy dreams fair Helen rose,
And eyed the dawning red:"Alas, my love, thou tarriest long!
O art thou false or dead?"—II.

Knight And
There came three merry men from south, west, and north,
Ever more sing the roundelay;
To win the Widow of Wycombe forth,

Waken, lords and ladies gay,
On the mountain dawns the day;
All the jolly chase is
With hawk and horse and hunting-spear,

I.
Fair Brussels, thou art far behind,
Though, lingering on the morning wind,  We yet may hear the
Pealed over orchard and canal

O hush thee, my babie, thy sire was a knight,
Thy mother a lady, both lovely and bright;
The woods and the glens, from the towers which we see,
They all are belonging, dear babie, to thee.

Introduction.
Harp of the North! that mouldering long hast hung On the witch-elm that shades Saint Fillan's
And down the fitful breeze thy numbers flung, Till envious ivy did around thee cling,
Muffling with verdant ringlet every…

Whet the bright steel,
Sons of the White Dragon!
Kindle the torch,
Daughter of Hengist!

Dust unto dust,
To this all must;
The tenant hath resign'd The faded form To waste and worm— Corruption claims her kind.
Through paths unknown Thy soul hath flown

The Abbot on the threshold stood,
And in his hand the holy rood:
Then, cloaking hate with fiery zeal,
Proud Lorn first answered the appeal; —

The Wildgrave winds his bugle-horn,
To horse, to horse! halloo, halloo!
His fiery courser snuffs the morn,
And thronging serfs their lord pursue.