MORCAR & ELFINA,

LEGENDARY TALE.

'HAT's yonder dreary light that shines,

WHAT

So nightly in yon tow'r ?

Why hollow founds yon rushing wave,
While wanes the midnight hour?

What's yonder wretched thing I fee,
That fruggles on the ftream,
And buffets ftill the boiling wave,
To gain yon glimm'ring beam?

A cruel Scottish Norland Chief,
In brutal paffion bold,
Hath feiz'd upon a lovely maid,
And borne her to his hold.

She bides in yonder dreary tow'r,

With Sorrow by her fide,

And yonder wretched thing's her love,

That ftruggles on the tide.

Lo!

Lo fee where rides the fire-ey'd Thane,

Who flew her father dear,

And ghaftly twin'd his gory hand,

Into his filver hair.

He reigns within yon gloomy den,
And strikes the lowly down,

He laughs to fcorn the wretch's want,
And laughs when widows mourn.

He turns his back when orphans weep:

So Heav'n fhall turn from his.

He fat into his gloomy hall,

With waffel rout and play;

With warrior knights drank off the bowl,
From eve till dawn of day.

In boastful mood they spoke of war,

For battle was their theme,

Yet footh'd it ftill with thoughts more soft,

A fimple lover's flame.

When dark, dark grew their Chieftain's brow,

From out his feat he sprang,

A grove of fpears behind him rose,

And clatt'ring targets rang.

The

The fhining fhield he buckled on,
Some princely Soldan's pride;

The clanking fword from Paynim tore,
That glitter'd by his fide.

Black Fate fat nodding on his plumes,
O'erfhadow'd his keen eyes,
Stern as the ftedfaft ftar of night,
That ftuds the winter-fkies.

He wav'd his hand, the pipers play'd,
And forth they fallied out,

He fmil'd upon the bending ranks,
They answer'd with a shout.

Now to their death-accuftom'd fouls
His cruel thoughts avow'd,

While Silence o'er the warrior's brow
Hung like a heavy cloud.

Beneath the mirk of night they rush,
And, at their Chieftain's word,
Loud as the waves on Kilda's shore,
They claih the steely fword.

On, on to Kenrick's ftately tow'rs
Their deadly way they wend,

With thirft of plunder, blood, and death,

Their reftlefs fouls diftend.

While

While fear fat quiv'ring on each lip,
The maffy bolts they push,
And into Kenrick's lighted hall

The furious foldiers rush!

So have I seen the grey-goose shaft,
That ftruck the nobleft deer,
Aftounded gaze the trembling herd,
They could not flee for fear.

They ftrike the lamp, and all is dark,
They glut their brutal rage;
Nor spare the infant at the breast,
Nor spare the mother's age!

The cruel Morcar led the way,
His hands in blood were dy'd,
He ruthless seized the aged Chief,
The castle's boast and pride.

Three ftrides he took, with furious look,

As fierce as Ocean's wave;

He held where on his temples grew

The blossoms of the grave;

And thrice he dash'd his aged head,
To fate the hate he bore;

And all the weeping wall did blush,
With Kenrick's brains and gore!

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