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Up, up the stairs they clatter now,
They rushing wind their way,
The Alpine snows for prey.
And he has seiz'd Elfina fair,
The Baron's daughter dear ;
And wip'd the falling tear.
To bend her to his wild desire,
He's borne her to his tow'r. She watches weary by yon light,
While wanes the midnight hour.
And yonder is her own true love,
That Itruggles on the tide!
To be her William's guide.
He blew his horn in the green wood,
Elana was not there! He fought her through the green-wood path,
With forrow and with care.
He fought her here, he fought her there,
Till in her father's hall,
Pale fear thrill’d through his manly breaft,
In ev'ry limb he shook,
And frantic grew his look!
And callid Elfina's name,
Save echo back again.
The bleak wind whittled thro' the hall,
Which us'd to shine so bright, Where now a scene of carnage wild,
Gleams horrid thro' the night.
He sought her here, he fought her there,
Thro' hut and hovel too,
But all it would not do.
He fought her thro' the country's bounds,
A frantic thing forlorn,
And with her rose at morn.
His hair was matted all with thorns,
His cloathes were rent away, His eyes were sunk, his cheeks were pale, Where deadly horrors play.
Thus, wretched man, he ranged on,
To Morcar's tow'rs he came, Resolv'd to fling his shrivel'd corse
Into the Carron ftream.
As lightning thro' the low'ring cloud
Oft gleams a frighted smile,
To save him yet a while,
The nipping blast, thro' his loopt rags,
Did make his body shrink,
Where he stood on the brink.
When thro' the dim and dead of night,
He spy'd the glimm'ring fpark, Which scarcely shot from Morcar's tow'rs,
Athwart the pitchy dark.
But it awaken'd in his breaft
A ray of hope to gleam; Tho’tender as the cheerless light
That trembles o'er the stream.
Hark! on the bosom of the air,
A seraph seems to sing,
Or on Come angel's wing.
Fair Hope fpread smiling o'er his soul,
He heard the warbling song ;
The sporting herds among.
From yonder tow'rs it came,
Athwart the Carron ftream.
Where he stood on the brink forlorn,
And view'd the Chieftain's den, Whofe threshold beauty ne'er beftrode,
To smile in peace again.
She weeps in yonder lonely tow'r,
Aside the taper's light, Sweet as the lilly of the morn,
The cold air nipt at night.
Bright joy poffefs'd his manly breast,
Which forrow long had torn, Yet trembling, like the early fun,
That drinks the mists of morn.
He smil'd at Terror's deadly frown,
And sprang into the tide ;
That gains the other side.
For he has stood where Honour bade,
Tho' Death trod on his heel : Mean is the soul that stoops to fear;
None such did William feel.
He leans against the castle-wall,
A shiv’ring dripping thing.
The black wood's bounds do ring?
He play'd a pibroch soft and sweet,
Beneath the castle-wall,
Sat drinking in the hall.
Hark! hark! what's that that plays fo sweet,
That plays so sweet and loud, As soft as on the summer's wind,
Is borne the milky cloud.
She knew it was her long-loft love,
Swift to the window ran,
And from the window sprang,
And, oh! they parted kindest words,
And still they fpoke of love, Sweet as the poet'ever feign'd
In secret mirtle grove.