'And by my word! the bonny bird

In danger shall not tarry;

So though the waves are raging white, I'll row you o'er the ferry.'

By this the storm grew loud apace,
The water-wraith was shrieking;
And in the scowl of heaven each face
Grew dark as they were speaking.

But still as wilder blew the wind,
And as the night grew drearer,
Adown the glen rode armèd men,

Their trampling sounded nearer.

'Oh, haste thee, haste!' the lady cries, "Though tempests round us gather; I'll meet the raging of the skies, But not an angry father.'

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'And her fire-fly lamp I soon shall see,
And her paddle I soon shall hear;
Long and loving our life shall be,
And I'll hide the maid in a cypress tree,
When the footstep of death is near.'
Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds-
His path was rugged and sore,
Through tangled juniper, beds of reeds,
Through many a fen where the serpent feeds,
And man never trod before.

And, when on the earth he sunk to sleep,
If slumber his eyelids knew,

He lay where the deadly vine doth weep
Its venomous tear and nightly steep
The flesh with blistering dew!

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1806

'Come back! come back!' he cried in grief, 'Across this stormy water:

Are seen at the hour of midnight damp To cross the Lake by a fire-fly lamp, And paddle their white canoe!

Thomas Moore (1779-1852).

THE LAKE OF THE DISMAL SWAMP

'THEY made her a grave, too cold and damp For a soul so warm and true;

And she's gone to the Lake of the Dismal
Swamp,

Where, all night long, by a fire-fly lamp,
She paddles her white canoe.

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Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes,

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THE WAR-SONG OF DINAS
VAWR

THE mountain sheep are sweeter,
But the valley sheep are fatter;
We therefore deemed it meeter
To carry off the latter.
We made an expedition;
We met an host, and quelled it;
We forced a strong position,
And killed the men who held it.

On Dyfed's richest valley,
Where herds of kine were browsing,
We made a mighty sally,
To furnish our carousing.
Fierce warriors rushed to meet us;
We met them, and o'erthrew them:
They struggled hard to beat us;
But we conquered them, and slew them.

As we drove our prize at leisure,
The king marched forth to catch us;
His rage surpassed all measure,
But his people could not match us.
He fled to his hall-pillars;
And, ere our force we led off,
Some sacked his house and cellars,
While others cut his head off.
We there, in strife bewildering,
Spilt blood enough to swim in:
We orphaned many children,
And widowed many women.
The eagles and the ravens
We glutted with our foemen;
The heroes and the cravens,
The spearmen and the bowmen.

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His head was borne before us;

But drowned its toll with my clanging horn

And the only beads I loved to tell

Were the beads of dew on the spangled

His wine and beasts supplied our feasts, And his overthrow, our chorus.

Leigh Hunt (1784-1859)

ABOU BEN ADHEM

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1829