Proud Gordon cannot bear the thoughts
That through his brain are travelling,-
And, starting up, to Bruce's heart,
He launched a deadly javelin !
Fair Ellen saw it when it came,
And, stepping forth to meet the same,
Did with her body cover

The youth, her chosen lover.

And, falling into Bruce's arms,
Thus died the beauteous Ellen,
Thus from the heart of her true love
The mortal spear repelling.

And Bruce, as soon as he had slain
The Gordon, sailed away to Spain;
And fought, with rage incessant,
Against the Moorish crescent.

But many days, and many months,
And many years ensuing,

This wretched knight did vainly seek
The death that he was wooing:
And, coming back across the wave,
Without a groan on Ellen's grave
His body he extended,

And there his sorrow ended.

Now ye, who willingly have heard
The tale I have been telling,
May in Kirkonnel church-yard view
The grave of lovely Ellen:

By Ellen's side the Bruce is laid;
And, for the stone upon his head,
May no rude hand deface it,

And its forlorn HIC JACET.

VII.

STRANGE fits of passion I have known:

And I will dare to tell,

But in the lover's ear alone,

What once to me befell.

When she I loved was strong and gay,

And like a rose in June,

I to her cottage bent my way,

Beneath the evening moon.

Upon the moon I fixed my eye,
All over the wide lea:

My horse trudged on--and we drew nigh
Those paths so dear to me.

59

And now we reached the orchard plot;
And, as we climbed the hill,
Towards the roof of Lucy's cot
The moon descended still.

In one of those sweet dreams I slept,
Kind Nature's gentlest boon!
And, all the while, my eyes I kept
On the descending moon.

My horse moved on; hoof after hoof
He raised and never stopped:
When down behind the cottage roof,
At once the bright moon dropped.

What fond and wayward thoughts will slide
Into a lover's head!-

"O mercy!" to myself I cried,

"If Lucy should be dead!"

VIII.

SHE dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,

A maid whom there were none to praise,
And very few to love.

A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye!

Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky.

She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;

But she is in her grave, and, oh,
The difference to me!

IX.

I TRAVELLED among unknown men,
In lands beyond the seas;
Nor, England! did I know till then
What love I bore to thee.

'Tis past, that melancholy dream!
Nor will I quit thy shore
A second time; for still I seem
To love thee more and more.

Among thy mountains did I feel
The joy of my desire;

And she I cherished turned her wheel
Beside an English fire.

Thy mornings showed, thy nights concealed
The bowers where Lucy played;
And thine is too the last green field
That Lucy's eyes surveyed.

X.

LOUISA.

I MET Louisa in the shade;
And, having seen that lovely maid,
Why should I fear to say

That she is ruddy, fleet, and strong;
And down the rocks can leap along,
Like rivulets in May ?

And she hath smiles to earth unknown;

Smiles, that with motion of their own

Do spread, and sink, and rise;

That come and go with endless play,
And ever, as they pass away,
Are hidden in her eyes.

She loves her fire, her cottage home;
Yet o'er the moorland will she roam
In weather rough and bleak;

And, when against the wind she strains,
Oh! might I kiss the mountain rains
That sparkle on her cheek.

Take all that's mine "beneath the moon,"

If I with her but half a noon

May sit beneath the walls

Of some old cave, or mossy nook,

When up she winds along the brook,
To hunt the waterfalls.

XI.

"TIS said, that some have died for love :
And here and there a church-yard grave is found
In the cold North's unhallowed ground,-

Because the wretched man himself had slain,
His love was such a grievous pain.

And there is one whom I five years have known;

9

He dwells alone

Upon Helvellyn's side:

He loved

the pretty Barbara died,

And thus he makes his moan:

Three years had Barbara in her grave been laid,
When thus his moan he made :

"Oh, move, thou cottage, from behind that oak!
Or let the aged tree uprooted lie,

That in some other way yon smoke
May mount into the sky!

The clouds pass on; they from the heavens depart :
I look-the sky is empty space;

I know not what I trace;

But, when I cease to look, my hand is on my heart.

Oh, what a weight is in these shades! Ye leaves,
When will that dying murmur be suppressed?
Your sound my heart of peace bereaves,

It robs my heart of rest.

Thou thrush, that singest loud-and loud and free, Into yon row of willows flit,

Upon that alder sit;

Or sing another song, or choose another tree.

Roll back, sweet rill! back to thy mountain bounds, And there for ever be thy waters chained!

For thou dost haunt the air with sounds

That cannot be sustained;

If still beneath that pine-tree's ragged bough
Headlong yon waterfall must come,

Oh let it then be dumb!

Be anything, sweet rill, but that which thou art now.

Thou eglantine, whose arch so proudly towers
(Even like a rainbow spanning half the vale),
Thou one fair shrub-oh, shed thy flowers,
And stir not in the gale!

For thus to see thee nodding in the air,

To see thy arch thus stretch and bend,

Thus rise and thus descend,

Disturbs me, till the sight is more than I can bear."

The man who makes this feverish complaint
Is one of giant stature, who could dance
Equipped from head to foot in iron mail.
Ah gentle love! if ever thought was thine
To store up kindred hours for me, thy face
Turn from me, gentle love! nor let me walk
Within the sound of Emma's voice, or know
Such happiness as I have known to-day.

XII.

THE COMPLAINT OF A FORSAKEN INDIAN WOMAN. (When a Northern Indian, from sickness, is unable to continue his journey with his companions, he is left behind, covered over with deer-skins, and is supplied with water, food, and fuel, if the situation of the place will afford it. He is informed of the track which his companions intend to pursue, and if he is unable to follow or overtake them, he perishes alone in the desert; unless he should have the good fortune to fall in with some other tribes of Indians. The females are equally, or still more, exposed to the same fate. See that very interesting work, Hearne's Journey from Hudson's Bay to the Northern Ocean. In the high northern latitudes, as the same writer informs us, when the Northern Lights vary their position in the air, they make a rustling and a crackling noise. This circumstance is alluded to in the first stanzas of the following poem).

BEFORE I see another day,

Oh let my body die away!

In sleep I heard the northern gleams;
The stars were mingled with my dreams;
In sleep did I behold the skies,

I saw the crackling flashes drive;

And yet they are upon my eyes,
And yet I am alive.
Before I see another day,
Oh let my body die away!

My fire is dead: it knew no pain;
Yet is it dead, and I remain.
All stiff with ice the ashes lie;
And they are dead, and I will die.

When I was well, I wished to live,

For clothes, for warmth, for food, and fire;
But they to me no joy can give,
No pleasure now, and no desire.

Then here contented will I lie!

Alone I cannot fear to die.

Alas! ye might have dragged me on
Another day, a single one!

Too soon I yielded to despair;

Why did ye listen to my prayer

?

When ye were gone my limbs were stronger;
And oh how grievously I rue,
That, afterwards, a little longer,
My friends, I did not follow you!
For strong and without pain I lay,
My friends, when ye were gone away.

My child they gave thee to another,
A woman who was not thy mother.
When from my arms my babe they took,
On me how strangely did he look!