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Short was the pause; the stranger youth,

The gaudy minstrel of the south,

Whose glossy eye and lady form

Had never braved the northern storm,

Stepped lightly forth,-kneeled three times low,

And then, with many a smile and bow,

Mounted the form amid the ring,

And rung his harp's responsive string.
Though true the chords, and mellow-toned,

Long, long he twisted, long he coned;
Well pleased to hear his name they knew;
""Tis Rizzio!" round in whispers flew.

Valet with Parma's knight he came,
An angler in the tides of fame;
And oft had tried, with anxious pain,
Respect of Scotland's Queen to gain.
Too well his eye, with searching art,
Perceived her fond, her wareless heart;
And though unskilled in Scottish song,
Her notice he had wooed so long;

With pain by night, and care by day,
He framed this fervid, flowery lay.-

Malcolm of Lorn.

THE FIRST BARD'S SONG.

I.

Came ye by Ora's verdant steep,

That smiles the restless ocean over?

Heard ye a suffering maiden weep?
Heard ye her name a faithful lover?
Saw ye an aged matron stand
O'er yon green grave above the strand,
Bent like the trunk of withered tree,
Or yon old thorn that sips the sea?
Fixed her dim eye, her face as pale

As the mists that o'er her flew :

Her joy is fled like the flower of the vale,

Her hope like the morning dew!

That matron was lately as proud of her stay,

As the mightiest monarch of sceptre or sway:

O list to the tale! 'tis a tale of soft sorrow,

Of Malcolm of Lorn, and young Ann of Glen-Ora.

II.

The sun is sweet at early morn,

Just blushing from the ocean's bosom ;
The rose that decks the woodland thorn
Is fairest in its opening blossom;
Sweeter than opening rose in dew,
Than vernal flowers of richest hue,
Than fragrant birch or weeping willow,

Than red sun resting on the billow;

Sweeter than aught to mortals given

The heart and soul to prove;

Sweeter than aught beneath the heaven,

The joys of early love!

Never did maiden, and manly youth,

Love with such fervor, and love with such truth ;

Or pleasures and virtues alternately borrow,

As Malcolm of Lorn, and fair Aun of Glen-Ora.

III.

The day is come, the dreaded day,

Must part two loving hearts for ever; The ship lies rocking in the bay,

The boat comes rippling up the river : O happy has the gloaming's eye

In

green Glen-Ora's bosom seen them! But soon shall lands and nations lie,

And angry oceans roll between them. Yes, they must part, for ever part; Chill falls the truth on either heart; For honour, titles, wealth, and state,

In distant lands her sire await.

The maid must with her sire away,

She cannot stay behind;

Strait to the south the pennons play,

And steady is the wind.

Shall Malcolm relinquish the home of his youth,
And sail with his love to the lands of the south?

Ah, no! for his father is gone to the tomb :
One parent survives in her desolate home!

No child but her Malcolm to cheer her lone

way:

Break not her fond heart, gentle Malcolm, O, stay!

IV.

The boat impatient leans ashore,

Her prow sleeps on a sandy pillow;

The rower leans upon his oar,

Already bent to brush the billow.

O! Malcolm, view yon melting eyes,
With tears yon stainless roses steeping!

O! Malcolm, list thy mother's sighs;

She's leaning o'er her staff and weeping!

Thy Anna's heart is bound to thine,

And must that gentle heart repine!
Quick from the shore the boat must fly;
Her soul is speaking through her eye;
Think of thy joys in Ora's shade;

From Anna canst thou sever?

Think of the vows thou often hast made,

To love the dear maiden for ever.

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