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 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 on 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 Fosters, 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 you ere heard of a gallant like young Lochinvar! Sir Walter Scott

;—for thy tread is on an Empire’s dust An earthquake’s spoil is sepulchred below! Is the spot marked with no colossal bust? Nor column trophied for triumphal show? None; but the moral’s truth tells simpler so. As the ground was before thus let it be.— How that red rain hath made the harvest grow; And is this all the world hath gained by thee, Thou first and last of fields—king-making Victory!

There was a sound of revelry by night, And Belgium’s capital had gather’d then