The bride kiss’d the goblet; the knight took it up,
    He quaff’d off the wine, and he threw down the cup;
    She look’d down to blush, and she look’d up to sigh,
    With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye. 
    He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar—­
    “Now tread we a measure!” said young Lochinvar.

    So stately his form, and so lovely her face,
    That never a hall such a galliard did grace;
    While her mother did fret, and her father did fume,
    And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume;
    And the bride-maidens whisper’d, “’Twere better, by far,
    To have match’d our fair cousin with young Lochinvar.”

    One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,
    When they reach’d the hall-door, and the charger stood near;
    So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung,
    So light to the saddle before her he sprung! 
    “She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur;
    They ’ll have fleet steeds that follow,” quoth young Lochinvar.

    There was mounting ’mong Graemes of the Netherby clan;
    Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran: 
    There was racing, and chasing, on Cannobie Lea,
    But the lost bride of Netherby ne’er did they see. 
    So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,
    Have ye e’er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?

[75] This song occurs in the fifth canto of “Marmion.”  It is founded on a ballad entitled “Katharine Janfarie,” in the “Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border.”

WHERE SHALL THE LOVER REST.[76]

Where shall the lover rest,
Whom the fates sever
From his true maiden’s breast,
Parted for ever? 
Where, through groves deep and high,
Sounds the far billow;
Where early violets die
Under the willow. 
Eleu loro, &c. 
Soft shall be his pillow.

There, through the summer day,
Cool streams are laving;
There, while the tempests sway,
Scarce are boughs waving;
There, thy rest shalt thou take,
Parted for ever;
Never again to wake,
Never, O never! 
Eleu loro, &c. 
Never, O never!

Where shall the traitor rest,
He, the deceiver,
Who could win maiden’s breast,
Ruin, and leave her? 
In the lost battle,
Borne down by the flying,
Where mingle war’s rattle
With groans of the dying. 
Eleu loro, &c. 
There shall he be lying.

Her wing shall the eagle flap
O’er the false-hearted;
His warm blood the wolf shall lap
Ere life be parted. 
Shame and dishonour sit
By his grave ever;
Blessing shall hallow it,—­
Never, O never! 
Eleu loro, &c. 
Never, O never!

[76] From the third canto of “Marmion.”

SOLDIER, REST!  THY WARFARE O’ER.[77]