Still of beauty possess'd, and not yet void of shame, The poor blue-eyed Mary is forc'd on the town. In a brothel next see her, trick'd out to allure, And by ruffians and drunkards oft wantonly spurn'd. While thus the barb'd arrow sinks deep in her soul, In a garret on straw faint and helpless is laid; T O mark her pale cheek, see she scarce takes her breath, And lo! her blue eyes are now seal'd up in death. LOCHINVAR. [WALTER SCOTT.] YOUNG Lochinvar is come out of the west, Through all the wide border his steed was the best; And save his good broad-sword he weapon had none, He rode all unarm'd, and he rode all alone. So faithful in love and so dauntless in war, That never was Knight like the young Lochinvar. He staid not for brake, and he stopp'd not for stone, He swam the Eske river, where ford there was none; But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate, The bride had consented, the gallant came late : So boldly he enter'd the Netherby hall, Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all: Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword, (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,) "O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar "I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied ;- The bride kiss'd the goblet; the knight took it up, So stately his form, and so lovely her face, That never a hall such a galliard did grace; by far And the bride-maidens whisper'd, "'twere better [invar," To have match'd our fair cousin with young Loch One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, When they reach'd the hall door and the charger stood near; So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, "She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur, Lochinvar. They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young There was mounting'mong Graemes of the Netherby [WILLIAM WOTY.] My temples with clusters of grapes I'll entwine, Yet why this resolve to relinquish the fair? 'Tis woman whose joys every rapture impart, At the sound of her voice sorrow lifts up Then fill me a goblet from Bacchus's hoard, 'Tis the thirst of a lover, then pledge me who dare. PLATO'S ADVICE.* SAYS ys Plato, why should man be vain, Since bounteous heaven hath made him great? Why look with insolent disdain On those undeck'd with wealth or state? Can splendid robes or beds of down, Or costly gems that deck the fair, Can all the glories of a crown," Give health, or ease the brow of care? * An alteration of a song written by the Rev. Mathew Pilkington, beginning "Why, Lycidas, should man be vain," |