t father's daughter, meek and mild,
Was she not, too, the mother's child?

Then _he_ was gone, and _she_ was here:
Her eye acknowledges the tear
Of brooding nature all confessed--
She falls upon the wanderer's breast!
No more the veil obscures the frame--
The curse is taken from the name.

XVII.

THE BALLAD OF MAID MARION.

Maid Marion laid her down to sleep,
Maid Marion could do nought but weep,
For thinking of that happy time
When she was in her early prime,
When in her glass she looked so fair
With lily-lire and golden hair.

Full many a year had rolled away,
Since _he_ left her that weary day,
When, poor in love and rich in gear,
She cast him off without a tear;
When, poor in gear, tho' rich in love,
He left her o'er the sea to rove.

His ship was never heard of more,
And she must now his death deplore.
Now, poor in gear and rich in love,
She saw him looking from above,
With mild reproof in his dark eyes,
And still that love she dared despise.

"Oh that that day had never been--
That I that day had never seen!
Wae fa the gowd that took its flight,
Wae fa' the love I feel this night,
Wae fa' the pride that made me mad,
And this regret that makes me sad."

And still she turned and aye she mourned,
And aye the briny tear it burned:
A spendthrift father in the grave,
A mother buried with the lave,
And he, her Willie, also gone,
And she left weeping here alone.

And still she tried to fall asleep,
But aye the thoughts their revels keep:
Hark, "one" knurrs from the ancient clock,
Long yet ere crowing of the cock--
That sound which sends to their repose
The ghosts that mourn their human woes.

A faint beam from the waning moon
Can scarcely more than show the gloom;
All is so still and silent round,
The foot of ghost might raise a sound.
Hush! there's a rustling near the bed--
She heard the curtain drawn aside.

With trembling fear she turned to see
Amid the gloom who there might be,
And thought she yet could dimly trace
The outlines of that well-known face
Of him, now dead, who loved her dear,
And she had scorned through pride of gear.

"Oh Marion dear!" the words came plain:
"Maid Marion, dear," it said again;
"Remember you of that auld time
I tried sae sair thy love to win,
And for that I was lowly born
Thou treated my true love with scorn?"

"Ah, Willie, Willie! I do thee fear,
It is thine angry ghost I hear;
I saw thee looking from on high,
I saw red anger in thine eye