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Up, up the stairs they clatter now,

They rushing wind their way,
In sound like wint'ry wolves that scour

The Alpine snows for prey.

And he has seiz'd Elfina fair,

The Baron's daughter dear ;
In vain she pled her plighted love,

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!
And nightly burns yon taper's light,

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,
And there he saw her aged fire
Lie murder'd at the wall.

Pale

Pale fear thrill’d through his manly breaft,

In ev'ry limb he shook,
But, ah! his love, she was not there ;

And frantic grew his look!
He rais'd his voice, with all his might,

And callid Elfina's name,
But nought was heard thro' the wild bounds,

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,
He fought her thro' both wood and wild,

But all it would not do.

He fought her thro' the country's bounds,

A frantic thing forlorn,
And with Despair lay down at night,

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

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,
So gleam'd the eye of Heav'n on him,

To save him yet a while,

The nipping blast, thro' his loopt rags,

Did make his body shrink,
And rouz'd him from the deed of death,

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,
Borne by sweet zephyrs to his ear,

Or on Come angel's wing.

B

Fair

Fair Hope fpread smiling o'er his soul,

He heard the warbling song ;
So shoots the beam o'er Cheviot hills,

The sporting herds among.
The found still trembles on his ear,

From yonder tow'rs it came,
Guided by the glimm'ring light,

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 ;
And yonder wretched thing is he,

That gains the other side.

For

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.
Hark! hark! or is it but the wind,

The black wood's bounds do ring?

He play'd a pibroch soft and sweet,

Beneath the castle-wall,
While bloody Morcar, with his knights,

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,
As if the would have leapt with joy,

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.

And

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