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Up, up the stairs they clatter now,
They rushing wind their way,

In found like wint'ry wolves that scour
The Alpine fnows for prey.

And he has feiz'd Elfina fair,
The Baron's daughter dear;
In vain the pled her plighted love,
And wip'd the falling tear.

To bend her to his wild defire,
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 fruggles on the tide!
And nightly burns yon taper's light,
To be her William's guide.

He blew his horn in the green wood,

Elfina 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 faw her aged fire

Lie murder'd at the wall.

Palc

Pale fear thrill'd through his manly breaff,

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 call'd Elfina's name,

But nought was heard thro' the wild bounds,
Save echo back again.

The bleak wind whiftled thro' the hall,
Which us'd to fhine fo bright,
Where now a fcene of carnage wild,
Gleams horrid thro' the night.

He fought 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 funk, his cheeks were pale, Where deadly horrors play.

Thus

Thus, wretched man, he ranged on,
To Morcar's tow'rs he came,

Refolv'd to fling his fhrivel'd corfe
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 fave him yet a while.

The nipping blaft, 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 fpy'd the glimm'ring fpark,
Which scarcely fhot 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 cheerlefs light

That trembles o'er the ftream.

Hark on the bofom of the air,

A feraph feems to fing,

Borne by fweet zephyrs to his ear,
Or on fome angel's wing.

B

Fair

Fair Hope fpread fmiling o'er his foul,
He heard the warbling song;

So fhoots the beam o'er Cheviot hills,
The sporting herds among.

The found ftill trembles on his ear,
From yonder tow'rs it came,
Guided by the glimm'ring light,
Athwart the Carron ftream.

Where he ftood on the brink forlorn,
And view'd the Chieftain's den,
Whofe threshold beauty ne'er beftrode,
To fmile in peace again.

She weeps in yonder lonely tow'r,

Afide the taper's light,

Sweet as the lilly of the morn,
The cold air nipt at night.

Bright joy poffefs'd his manly breaft,
Which forrow long had torn,

Yet trembling, like the early fun,
That drinks the mifts of morn.

He fmil'd at Terror's deadly frown,
And fprang into the tide;

And yonder wretched thing is he,

That gains the other fide.

For

For he has ftood where Honour bade,

Tho' Death trod on his heel : Mean is the foul that ftoops to fear; None fuch did William feel.

He leans against the castle-wall,
A fhiv'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 caftle-wall,

While bloody Morcar, with his knights,

Sat drinking in the hall.

Hark! hark! what's that that plays fo fweet,
That plays fo fweet and loud,

As foft as on the fummer'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 kindeft words,
And ftill they spoke of love,
Sweet as the poet' ever feign'd

In fecret mirtle grove.

B 2

And

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