"O lady, he is dead and gone!
Lady, he's dead and gone!
And at his head a green-grass turf,
And at his heels a stone.

'Within these holy cloisters long
He languish'd, and he died
Lamenting of a lady's love,
And 'plaining of her pride.

6

They bore him barefaced on his bier
Six proper youths and tall,

And many a tear bedew'd his
grave
Within yon kirk-yard wall.'

'And art thou dead, thou gentle youth
And art thou dead and gone;
And didst thou die for love of me?
Break, cruel heart of stone!'

"Oh, weep not, lady, weep not so,
Some ghostly comfort seek;
Let not vain sorrows rive thy heart,
Nor tears bedew thy cheek.'

'Oh, do not, do not, holy friar,
My sorrow now reprove;

For I have lost the sweetest youth
That e'er won lady's love.

And now,

alas! for thy sad loss

I'll ever weep and sigh;

For thee I only wish'd to live,

For thee I wish to die.'

"Weep no more, lady, weep no more, Thy sorrow is in vain ;

For violets pluck'd, the sweetest shower Will ne'er make grow again.

'Our joys as wingèd dreams do fly,
Why then should sorrow last?
Since grief but aggravates thy loss,
Grieve not for what is past.

"Oh, say not so, thou holy friar, I pray thee say not so;

For since my true-love died for me, 'Tis meet my tears should flow.

"And will he never come again?

Will he ne'er come again?

Ah! no, he is dead and laid in his grave,
For ever to remain.

'His cheek was redder than the rose;
The comeliest youth was he;

But he is dead and laid in his grave:
Alas, and woe is me!'

'Sigh no more, lady, sigh no more;
Men were deceivers ever;
One foot on sea and one on land,
To one thing constant never.

'Hadst thou been fond, he had been false, And left thee sad and heavy;

For young men ever were fickle found,
Since summer trees were leafy.'

'Now say not so, thou holy friar,
I pray thee say not so;

My love he had the truest heart,

Oh, he was ever true!

'And art thou dead, thou much lov'd youth,

And didst thou die for me?

Then farewell, home; for evermore

A pilgrim I will be.

'But first upon my true-love's grave
My weary limbs I'll lay,

And thrice I'll kiss the green-grass turf
That wraps his breathless clay.'

'Yet stay, fair lady, rest a while
Beneath this cloister wall;

See, through the thorn blows cold the wind
And drizzly rain doth fall.'

'Oh, stay me not, thou holy friar ;
Oh, stay me not, I pray;
No drizzly rain that falls on me
Can wash my fault away.'

'Yet stay, fair lady, turn again,
And dry those pearly tears;
For see, beneath this gown of grey
Thy own true-love appears.

'Here, forced by grief and hopeless love,
These holy weeds I sought,

And here amid these lonely walls

To end my days I thought.

'But haply, for my year of

Is not yet pass'd away,

grace

Might I still hope to win thy love,
No longer would I stay.'

'Now farewell grief, and welcome joy
Once more unto my heart;

For since I have found thee, lovely youth,
We never more will part.'

THE INCHCAPE ROCK

ROBERT SOUTHEY

No stir in the air, no stir in the sea,
The ship was still as she could be,
Her sails from heaven received no motion,

Her keel was steady in the ocean.

Without either sign or sound of their shock
The waves flow'd over the Inchcape Rock;
So little they rose, so little they fell,
They did not move the Inchcape Bell.

The worthy Abbot of Aberbrothock
Had placed that bell on the Inchcape Rock;
On a buoy in the storm it floated and swung,
And over the waves its warning rung.

When the Rock was hid by the surge's swell,
The mariners heard the warning bell;
And then they knew the perilous Rock,
And bless'd the Abbot of Aberbrothock.

The Sun in heaven was shining gay,
All things were joyful on that day;
The sea-birds scream'd as they wheel'd round,
And there was joyaunce in the sound.

The buoy of the Inchcape Bell was seen,
A darker speck on the ocean green;
Sir Ralph the Rover walk'd his deck,
And he fixed his eye on the darker speck.

He felt the cheering power of spring,
It made him whistle, it made him sing;
His heart was mirthful to excess,
But the Rover's mirth was wickedness.

His eye was on the Inchcape float;
Quoth he, 'My men, put out the boat,
And row me to the Inchcape Rock,

And I'll plague the Abbot of Aberbrothock.'

The boat is lower'd, the boatmen row,
And to the Inchcape Rock they go;
Sir Ralph bent over from the boat,

And he cut the Bell from the Inchcape float.

Down sank the Bell with a gurgling sound,
The bubbles arose and burst around;

Quoth Sir Ralph, 'The next who comes to the Rock

Won't bless the Abbot of Aberbrothock.'

Sir Ralph the Rover sail'd away,

He scour❜d the seas for many a day;
And now grown rich with plunder'd store,
He steers his course for Scotland's shore.

So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky
They cannot see the Sun on high;
The wind hath blown a gale all day,
At evening it hath died away.

On deck the Rover takes his stand,
So dark it is they see no land;
Quoth Sir Ralph, 'It will be lighter soon,
For there is the dawn of the rising Moon.'

'Canst hear,' said one, 'the breakers roar?
For methinks we should be near the shore.'
"Now where we are I cannot tell,

But I wish I could hear the Inchcape Bell.'

They hear no sound, the swell is strong;
Though the wind hath fallen they drift along,
Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock,-
'Oh Christ! it is the Inchcape Rock!'

Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair;
He curst himself in his despair;
But the waves rush in on every side,
And the vessel sinks beneath the tide.

THE WELL OF ST. KEYNE

A WELL there is in the west country,
And a clearer one never was seen;
There is not a wife in the west country

But has heard of the Well of St. Keyne.