night grew drearer,
Adown the glen rode armed men,
Their trampling sounded nearer.

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

The boat had left a stormy land,
A stormy sea before her,--
When, oh! too strong for human hand,
The tempest gather'd o'er her.

And still they row'd amidst the roar
Of waters fast prevailing:
Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore,
His wrath was changed to wailing.

For sore dismay'd, through storm and shade,
His child he did discover:--
One lovely hand she stretch'd for aid,
And one was round her lover.

"Come back! come back!" he cried in grief,
"Across this stormy water:
And I'll forgive your Highland chief,
My daughter!--oh my daughter!"

'Twas vain: the loud waves lashed the shore,
Return or aid preventing;
The waters wild went o'er his child,
And he was left lamenting.

SIR WALTER SCOTT

_By_ GRACE E. SELLON

Of the old and honorable families of Scotland there are perhaps none
more worthy than those from which were descended the parents of Sir
Walter Scott. In the long line of ancestors on either side were fearless
knights and bold chiefs of the Scottish Border whose adventures became a
delightful heritage to the little boy born into the Edinburgh family of
Scott in 1771. Perhaps his natural liking for strange and exciting
events would have made him even more eager than other children to be
told fairy stories and tales of real heroes of his own land. But even
had this not been so, the way in which he was forced to spend his early
childhood was such that entertainment of this kind was about all that he
could enjoy. He was not two years old when, after a brief illness, he
lost the use of one of his legs and thus became unable to run about as
before, or even to stand. Soon afterward he was sent to his
grandfather's farm at Sandy-Knowe, where it was thought that the country
life would help him. There he spent his days in listening to lively
stories of Scotsmen who had lived in the brave and rollicking fashion of
Robin Hood, in being read to by his aunt or in lying out among the
rocks, cared for by his grandfather's old shepherd. When thus out of
doors he found so much of interest about him that he could not lie
still and would try so hard to move hi