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APPENDIX.

SIR PATRICK SPENCE."
The King sits in Dumferling toune,

Drinking his blude-red wine :
“ O whar will I get guid sailor

To sail this ship of mine ?"

Up and spake an eldern: knicht',

Sat at the kings richt kne:
“ Sir Patrick Spence is the best sailor

That sails upon the sea.”

The king has written a braid letters

And signed it wi' his hand,
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spence,

Was walking on the sand.
The first line that Sir Patrick red,

A loud lauch 4 lauched he :
The next line that Sir Patrick red,

The teir blinded his ee.

“O wha is this has don' this deid,

This ill deid done to me;
To send me out this time o' the yeir

To sail upon the se?
“ Mak haste, mak haste, my mirry men all,

Our guid schip sails the morne." “O say na sae, my master deir,

For I feir a deadlie storme. • The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spence.

-Coleridge, Dejection. 1 Aged. 2 Knight. 3 Broad (open) letter. 4 Laugh. 5 Eye.

25

“ Late, late yestreeno I saw the new moone

Wi' the auld moone in hir arme ;
And I feir, I feir, my deir master,

That we will com' to harme.”

Oour Scots nobles wer richt laith?

To wet their cork-heild schoone ;
But lang owre a' the play wer playd

Thair hats they swam aboone. 8
O lang, lang may their ladies sit,

Wi''thair fans into their hand,
Or eir they se Sir Patrick Spence

Cum sailing to the land.
O lang, lang may the ladies stand,

Withair gold kems' in their hair,
Waiting for their ain deir lords,

For they'll se thame na mair.
Have owre, 1o have owre to Aberdour, "1

It's fifty fadom deip;
And thair lies guid Sir Patrick Spence
Wi’ the Scots lords at his feit.

-From Percy's Reliques."

TIME, REAL AND IMAGINARY.

AN ALLEGORY.
On the wide level of a mountain's head,
(I knew not where, but 'twas some faery place)
Their pinions, ostrich-like, for sails outspread,
Two lovely children run an endless race,

A sister and a brother !

That far outstripp'd the other ;
Yet even runs she with reverted face,
And looks and listens for the boy behind :

For he, alas ! is blind !
O’er rough and smooth with even step he pass'd,
And knows not whether he is first or last.

-Coleridge. 6 Yesterday evening. 7 Loath. 8 On the surface 9 Combs. 10 Half over 11 A village on the Forth.

LIFE.
Life! I know not what thou art,
But know that thou and I must part;
And when, or how, or where we met,
I own to me's a secret yet.
But this I know, when thou art fled,
Where'er they lay these limbs, this head,
No clod so valueless shall be,
As all that then remains of me.
O whither, whither dost thou fly,
Where bend unseen thy trackless course,

And in this strange divorce,
Ah! tell where I must seek this compound I?
To the vast ocean of empryeal flame,

From whence thy essence came,
Dost thou thy flight pursue, when freed
From matter's base, encumbering weed ?

Or dost thou, hid from sight,

Wait, like some spell-bound knight,
Though blank oblivious years the appointed hour,
To break thy trance and re-assume thy power!
Yet canst thou without thought or feeling be?
(say what art thou, when no more thou’rt thee?
Life ! we've been long together,
Through pleasant and through cloudy weather ;

'T is hard to part when friends are dear ;
Perhaps 't will cost a sigh, a tear ;
Then steal away, give little warning,

Choose thine own time;
Say not good night, but in some brighter clime
Bid me good morning.

-Mrs. Barbauld (1743-1825).

REQUIEM.
Under the wide and starry sky,

Dig the grave and let me lie.
Glad did I live, and gladly die,

And I laid me down with a will.
This be the verse you grave for me :

Here he lies where he longed to be ;
Home is the sailor, home from the sea,
And the hunter home from the hill.

- Robert Louis Stevenson. “ Late, late yestreeno I saw the new moone

Wi' the auld moone in hir arme ;
And I feir, I feir, my deir master,

That we will com' to harme.”

Oour Scots nobles wer richt laith?

To wet their cork-heild schoone ;
But lang owre a' the play wer playd

Thair hats they swam aboone. 8
O lang, lang may their ladies sit,

Wi thair fans into their hand,
Or eir they se Sir Patrick Spence

Cum sailing to the land.
O lang, lang may the ladies stand,

Wi' thair gold kems in their hair,
Waiting for their ain deir lords,

For they'll se thame na mair.
Have owre, 10 have owre to Aberdour, 11

It's fifty fadom deip;
And thair lies guid Sir Patrick Spence
Wi' the Scots lords at his feit.

- From Percy's Reliques."

TIME, REAL AND IMAGINARY.

AN ALLEGORY.

On the wide level of a mountain's head,
(I knew not where, but 'twas some faery place)
Their pinions, ostrich-like, for sails outspread,
Two lovely children run an endless race,

A sister and a brother !

That far outstripp'd the other ;
Yet even runs she with reverted face,
And looks and listens for the boy behind :

For he, alas ! is blind !
O'er rough and smooth with even step he pass'd,
And knows not whether he is first or last.

- Coleridge. 6 Yesterday evening. 7 Loatb. 8 On the surface. 9 Combs. 10 Half over Il A village on the Forth.

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