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“ And O thou silent picture fair,
May not thy gentle life prolong:
The fierce hawk hov’ring o'er his song?
His little heart is large with love :
He sweetly hails his ev'ning star;
Had watch'd o'er Owen's infant breath,
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 th' 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.
Has worn the frequent seal of woe,
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.
XXV. “ 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
u 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 sat,”
And how she “ fondly saw thee sleep."
Now tries his trembling hand to frame
Full many a tender line of love;
Reclin'd a dim tower, clad with moss,
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 boreAh! may they not unprosperous prove! Ah! safely pass yon dangerous door!
XXVIII. “ 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.
XXIX. '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.
BORN 1743.-DIED 1779.
The history of Penrose displays a dash of warlike adventure, which has seldom enlivened the biography of our poets. He was not led to the profession of arms, like Gascoigne, by his poverty, or like Quarles, Davenant, and Waller, by political circumstances; but, in a mere fit of juvenile ardour, gave up his studies at Oxford, where he was preparing to become a clergyman, and left the banners of the church for those of the battle. This was in the