Ah me! those flowers he binds no more;
No early charm returns again;
The parent, Nature, keeps in store
Her best joys for her little train.
No longer heed the sun-beam bright
That plays on Carron's breast he can;
Reason has lent her quivering light,
And shown the chequer'd field of man.
As the first human heir of earth
With pensive eye himself survey'd,
And, all unconscious of his birth,
Sat thoughtful oft in Eden's shade;
In pensive thought so Owen stray'd
Wild Carron's lonely woods among,
And once, within their greenest glade,
He fondly fram'd this simple song:
Why is this crook adorn'd with gold?
Why am I tales of ladies told?
Why does no labour me employ,
If I am but a shepherd's boy?
'A silken vest like mine so green
In shepherd's hut I have not seen-
Why should I in such vesture joy,
If I am but a shepherd's boy?
'I know it is no shepherd's art
His written meaning to impart—
They teach me, sure, an idle toy,
If I am but a shepherd's boy.
This bracelet bright that binds my armIt could not come from shepherd's farm; It only would that arm annoy,
If I were but a shepherd's boy.
And, O thou silent picture fair! That lov'st to smile upon me there, O say, and fill my heart with joy, That I am not a shepherd's boy.'
Ah, lovely youth! thy tender lay
May not thy gentle life prolong :
See'st thou yon nightingale a prey ?
The fierce hawk hovering o'er his song?
His little heart is large with love :
He sweetly hails his evening-star,
And fate's more pointed arrows move,
Insidious, from his eye afar.
The shepherdess, whose kindly care
Had watch'd o'er Owen's infant breath,
Must now their silent mansions share,
Whom Time leads calmly down to death:
'O tell me, parent if thou art,
What is this lovely picture dear? Why wounds its mournful eye my heart,
Why flows from mine the' unbidden tear?'—
"Ah! youth! to leave thee loth am I,
Though I be not thy parent dear;
And would'st thou wish or ere I die,
The story of thy birth to hear?
'But it will make thee much bewail,
And it will make thy fair eye swell'—
She said, and told the woesome tale,
As sooth as shepherdess might tell.
The heart that, sorrow doom'd to share,
Has worn the frequent seal of woe,
Its sad impressions learns to bear,
And finds, full oft, its ruin slow:
But when that seal is first imprest,
When the young heart its pain shall try,
From the soft, yielding, trembling breast,
Oft seems the startled soul to fly.
Yet fled not Owen's-wild amaze
In paleness cloth'd, and lifted hands,
And horror's dread, unmeaning gaze,
Mark the poor statue, as it stands.
The simple guardian of his life
Look'd wistful for the tear to glide; But, when she saw his tearless strife, Silent, she lent him one,-and died.
'No, I am not a shepherd's boy,'
(Awaking from his dream, he said)
Ah! where is now the promis'd joy
Of this?-for ever, ever fled!
O picture dear!-for her lov'd sake
How fondly could my heart bewail!
My friendly shepherdess, O wake,
And tell me more of this sad tale.
"O tell me more of this sad tale
No; thou enjoy thy gentle sleep!
And I will go to Lothian's vale.
And more than all her waters weep.'
XXVI.
Owen to Lothian's vale is fled
Earl Barnard's lofty towers appear'O! art thou there; (the full heart said) O! art thou there, my parent dear?' Yes, she is there: from idle state
Oft has she stole her hour to weep;
Think how she 'by thy cradle sate,'
And how she 'fondly saw thee sleep.**
Now tries his trembling hand to frame
Full many a tender line of love;
And still he blots the parent's name,
For that, he fears, might fatal prove.
XXVII.
O'er a fair fountain's smiling side
Reclin'd a dim tower, clad with moss,
Where every bird was wont to bide,
That languish'd for its partner's loss:
This scene he chose, this scene assign'd
A parent's first embrace to wait,
And many a soft fear fill'd his mind,
Anxious for his fond letter's fate.
The hand that bore those lines of love,
The well-informing bracelet bore-
Ah! may they not unprosperous prove!
Ah! safely pass yon dangerous door!
* See the ancient Scottish ballad, called Gill Morrice.
'She comes not ;-can she then delay? (Cried the fair youth, and dropt a tear) Whatever filial love could say,
To her I said, and call'd her dear!
'She comes-Oh! no-encircled round,
'Tis some rude chief, with many a spear:
My hapless tale that earl has found-
Ah me! my heart!-for her I fear.'
His tender tale that earl had read,
Or ere it reach'd his lady's eye,
His dark brow wears a cloud of red,
In rage he deems a rival nigh.
"Tis o'er-those locks that wav'd in gold,
That wav'd adown those cheeks so fair,
Wreath'd in the gloomy tyrant's hold,
Hang from the sever'd head in air;
That streaming head he joys to bear,
In horrid guise to Lothian's halls;
Bids his grim ruffians place it there,
Erect upon the frowning walls.
The fatal tokens forth he drew
'Know'st thou these-Ellen of the vale?'
The pictur'd bracelet soon she knew,
And soon her lovely cheek grew pale :
The trembling victim straight he led,
Ere yet her soul's first fear was o'er ;
He pointed to the ghastly head-
She saw-and sunk, to rise no more.
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