The sun is rising dimly red, The wind is wailing low and dread; From his cliff the eagle sallies, Leaves the wolf his darksome valle… In the mist the ravens hover,

The scenes are desert now, and bar… Where flourished once a forest fai… When these waste glens with copse… And peopled with the hart and hind… Yon thorn-perchance whose prickly…

It was Dunois, the young and brav… But first he made his orisons befo… ‘And grant, immortal Queen of Hea… ‘That I may prove the bravest kni… His oath of honour on the shrine h…

Call it not vain;-they do not err, Who say, that when the Poet dies, Mute Nature mourns her worshipper… And celebrates his obsequies: Who say, tall cliff and cavern lon…

Ah! County Guy, the hour is nigh, The sun has left the lea, The orange flower perfumes the bow… The breeze is on the sea. The lark his lay who thrill’d all…

I climbed the dark brow of the mig… Lakes and mountains beneath me gle… All was still, save by fits, when… And starting around me the echoes… On the right, Striding-edge round…

Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, Pibroch of Donuil, Wake thy wild voice anew, Summon Clan-Conuil. Come away, come away,

The Wildgrave winds his bugle-hor… To horse, to horse! halloo, halloo… His fiery courser snuffs the morn, And thronging serfs their lord pur… The eager pack, from couples freed…

The Abbot on the threshold stood, And in his hand the holy rood: Then, cloaking hate with fiery zea… Proud Lorn first answered the app… ‘Thou comest, O holy man,

Stranger! if e’er thine ardent ste… The northern realms of ancient Ca… Where the proud Queen of Wilderne… By lake and cataract, her lonely t… Sublime but sad delight thy soul h…

Sound, sound the clarion, fill the… To all the sensual world proclaim, One crowded hour of glorious life Is worth an age without a name.

Thy hue, dear pledge, is pure and… As in that well - remember’d night When first thy mystic braid was wo… And first my Agnes whisper’d love… Since then how often hast thou pre…

Proud Maisie is in the wood, Walking so early; Sweet Robin sits on the bush, Singing so rarely. ‘Tell me, thou bonny bird,

This ae nighte, this ae nighte, Every nighte and alle; Fire and sleete and candle lighte, And Christe receive thye saule. When thou from hence away are past…

The toils are pitched, and the sta… Ever sing merrily, merrily; The bows they bend, and the knives… Hunters live so cheerily. It was a stag, a stag of ten,