Imatges de pàgina

Unseen to Moray's Halls he hies

He calls his slaves, his ruffian band, · And haste to yonder groves,' He cries,

• And ambush'd lie by Carron's strand,'

What time


mark from bower or glen, A gentle lady take her way • To distance due, and far from ken,

• Allow her length of time to stray.

· Then ransack straight that



groves.• With hunter's spear, and vest of green, • If chance, a rosy ftripling roves,

Ye well can aim your arrows keen.'

And now the ruffian Naves are nigh,

And Ellen takes her homeward way: Though stay'd by many a tender figh,

She can no longer, longer stay. Pensive, against yon poplar pale

The lover leans his gentle heart,
Revolving many a tender tale,

And wondering still how they could part.
Three arrow's pierc'd the desert air,
Ere yet

his tender dreams depart ; And one ftruck deep his forehead fair,

And one went through his gentle heart.
Love's waking dream is loft in Deep-

He lies beneath yon poplar pale ;
Ah! could we marvel ye should weep;
Ye maidens fair of Marlivale !

When all the mountain gales were still,

And the wave slept against the shore.
And the fun, funk beneath the hill,
Left his last smile on Lemmermore ;


Sweet Ellen takes her wonted

way Along the fairy-featur'd vale, Bright o'er his wave does Carron play,

And foon she'll meet her Nithisdale.

She'll meet him soon–for at her fight

Swift as the mountain deer he sped ; The evening shades will fink in night,

Where art thou, loitering lover, fled ?

O! She will chide thy trilling stay,

E'en now the soft reproach she frames : • Can lovers brook such long delay?

• Lovers that boast of ardent flames !!

He comes not—weary with the chace,

Soft Number o'er his eyelids throws Her veil-we'll steal one dear embrace,

We'll gently Ateal on his repose.

This is the bower--we'll softly tread

He sleeps beneath yon poplar paleLover, if e'er thy heart has bled,

Thy heart will far forego my tale!

XI. Ellen is not in princely bower,

She's not in Moray's fplendid train ; Their mistress dear at midnight hour,

Her weeping maidens seek in vain.

Her pillow swells not deep with down,

For her no balms their sweets exhale : Her limbs are on the pale turf thrown,

Press’d by her lovely check as pale.

On that fair check, that flowing hair,

The broom its yellow leaf hath shed, And the chill mountain's early air

Blows wildly o'er her beauteous head.

As the soft far of orient Day,

When clouds involve his rosy light, Darts through the gloom a transient ray,

And leaves the world once more to night ;

Returning life illumes her eye,

And flow its languid orh unfolds---What are those bloody arrows nigh?

Sure, bloody arrows she beholds !

What was the form so ghastly pale,

That low beneath the poplar lay? 'Twas some poor Youth-Ah Nithisdale !'

She said, and filent sunk away.


The morn is on the mountains spread,

The woodlark thrills his liquid ftrainCan morn's sweet music raise the dead ?

Give the set eye it's soul again?

A shepherd of that gentler mind,

Which nature not profusely yields, Seeks in these lonely shades to find

Some wanderer from his little fields.

Aghaft he stands--and fimple fear
O'er all his paly visage glides
Ah me! what means this mifery here?
• What fate this lady fair betides ?'

He bears her to his friendly home,

When life, he finds, has but retir'd ; With hafte he frames the lover's tomb,

For his is quite, is quite expir’d!


. O hide me in thy humble Bower'

Returning late to life she faid; " I'll bind thy crook with many a tower ;

• With many a rofy wreath thy head.

• Good shepherd haste to yonder grove,

. And if my love asleep is laid, « Oh! wake him not; but softly move

Some pillow to that gentle head.

· Sure, thou wilt know him, shepherd swain,

• Thou know'f the sun rise o'er the sea.But Oh! no lamb in all thy train 1. Waz e'er so mild, so mild as he.'

« His head is on the wood-moss laid ;

• I did not wake his slumber deep• Sweet fings the redbreast o'er the shade

• Why, gentle lady, would you weep?"

As flowers that fade in burning day,

At evening find the dew-drop dear, But fiercer feel the noon-tide ray,

When foften'd by the nightly tear ;

.Returning in the flowing tear,

This lovely flower more sweet than they, Found her fair soul, and wandering near,

The stranger, Reafon, cross’d her way.

Found her fair foul-Ah! so to find

Was but more dreadful grief to know! Ah! sure, the privilege of mind

Can not be worth the wish of woe.


On melancholy's silent urn

A softer shade of forrow falls, But Ellea can no more return,

No more return to Moray's Halls. Beneath the low and lonely shade

The low consuming hour she'll weep, Till nature seeks her lait-left aid,

In the sad, sombrous arms of fleep.

* These jewels all unmeet for me,

Shalt thou,' she said, 'good shepherd take ; * These gems will purchase gold for thee,

And these be thine for Ellen's sake.

• So fail thou not, at eve and morn,

• The rosemary's pale bough to bring• Thon know't where I was found forlorn

• Where thou haft heard the redbreast fing.

• Heedful I'll tend thy flocks the while,

• Or aid thy shepherdess's care, • For I will share her humble toil,

And I her friendly roof will share.'


And now two longsome years are past

In luxury of lonely pain
The lovely mourner, found at laft,

To Moray's Halls is borne again.

Yet has she left one object dear,

That wears Love's funny eye of joy
Is Nithisdale reviving here?
Or is it but a shepherd's boy?

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