Page:Paul Clifford Vol 1.djvu/290

260 yet jovial air, with a tolerable voice, the following effusion:—

On the stream of the World, the Robber's life Is borne on the blithest wave; Now it bounds into light in a gladsome strife, Now it laughs in its hiding cave.

At his maiden's lattice he stays the rein, How still is his courser proud! (But still as a wind when it hangs o'er the main In the breast of the boding cloud)—

With the champèd bit and the archèd crest, And the eye of a listening deer, And the spirit of fire that pines at its rest, And the limbs that laugh at fear.

Fit slave to a Lord whom all else refuse To save at his desperate need; By my troth! I think one whom the world pursues, Hath a right to a gallant steed.

"Away, my beloved, I hear their feet!" "I blow thee a kiss, my fair, And I promise to bring thee, when next we meet, A braid for thy bonny hair.

"Hurra! for the booty!—my Steed, hurra! Thorough bush, thorough brake go we; And the coy Moon smiles on our merry way, Like my own love—timidly."