And O, her beauty was fair to see,

But still and stedfast was her ee!

Such beauty bard may never declare,

For there was no pride nor passion there;

And the soft desire of maidens een

In that mild face could never be seen.

Her seymar was the lilly flower,

And her cheek the moss-rose in the shower;

And her voice like the distant melodye,

That floats along the twilight sea.

But she loved to raike the lanely glen,

And keeped afar frae the haunts of men;
Her holy hymns unheard to sing,

To suck the flowers, and drink the spring.
But wherever her peaceful form appeared,
The wild beasts of the hill were cheered;
The wolf played blythly round the field,
The lordly byson lowed and kneeled ;
The dun deer wooed with manner bland,

And cowered aneath her lilly hand.

And when at even the woodlands rung,
When hymns of other worlds she sung,

In ecstacy of sweet devotion,

O, then the glen was all in motion.
The wild beasts of the forest came,

Broke from their bughts and faulds the tame,

And goved around, charmed and amazed;
Even the dull cattle crooned and gazed,

And murmured and looked with anxious pain
For something the mystery to explain.

The buzzard came with the throstle-cock;

The corby left her houf in the rock;
The blackbird alang wi' the eagle flew ;

The hind came tripping o'er the dew;

The wolf and the kid their raike began,

And the tod, and the lamb, and the leveret ran ;

The hawk and the hern attour them hung,

And the merl and the mavis forhooyed their young;

And all in a peaceful ring were hurled :

It was like an eve in a sinless world!

When a month and a day had come and gane, Kilmeny sought the greenwood wene;

There laid her down on the leaves sae green,

And Kilmeny on earth was never mair seen.

But O, the words that fell from her mouth,
Were words of wonder, and words of truth!
But all the land were in fear and dread,

For they kendna whether she was living or dead.
It wasna her hame, and she couldna remain ;
She left this world of sorrow and pain,

And returned to the land of thought again.

He ceased; and all with kind concern

Blest in their hearts the bard of Ern.

By that the chill and piercing air,

The pallid hue of ladies fair,

The hidden yawn, and drumbly eye,

Loudly announced the morning nigh.

Beckoned the Queen with courteous smile, And breathless silence gazed the while :

"I hold it best, my lords," she said, “For knight, for dame, and lovely maid, At wassail, wake, or revel hall,

To part before the senses pall.

Sweet though the draught of pleasure be,
Why should we drain it to the lee?
Though here the minstrel's fancy play,
Light as the breeze of summer-day;
Though there in solemn cadence flow,
Smooth as the night-wind o'er the snow;
Now bound away with rolling sweep,
Like tempest o'er the raving deep;
High on the morning's golden screen,
Or casemate of the rainbow lean ;-
Such beauties were in vain prolonged,
The soul is cloyed, the minstrel wronged.

“Loud is the morning-blast and chill,

The snow-drift speeds along the hill;

Let ladies of the storm beware,

And knights of ladies take a care;

From lanes and alleys guard them well,

Where lurking ghost or sprite may dwell; But most avoid the dazzling flare,

And spirit of the morning air;

Hide from their eyes that hideous form,
The ruthless angel of the storm.

I wish, for every gallant's sake,
That none may rue our Royal Wake:
I wish what most his heart approves,
And every lady what she loves,—
Sweet be her sleep on bed of down,
And pleasing be her dreams till noon.
And when you hear the bugle's strain,
I hope to see you all again.”—

Whether the Queen to fear inclined, Or spoke to cheer the minstrel's mind,