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The tempest crackles on the leads,
And, ringing, spins from brand and mail ; But o'er the dark a glory spreads,
And gilds the driving hail,
No branchy thicket shelter yields ;
Fly o’er waste fens and windy fields.
A maiden knight to me is given
Such hope, I know not fear ;
That often meet me here.
I muse on joy that will not cease,
Pure spaces clothed in living beams,
This mortal armour that I wear,
Are touch'd, are turn'd to finest air.
The clouds are broken in the sky,
And thro' the mountain-walls
and shakes and falls. Then move the trees, the copses nod,
Wings flutter, voices hover clear : “O just and faithful knight of God!
Ride on! the prize is near."
By bridge and ford, by park and pale, All-arm'd I ride, whate'er betide,
Until I find the holy Grail.
Sweet Emma Moreland of yonder town
Met me walking on yonder way, “ And have
heart ?” she said;
Sweet Emma Moreland spoke to me :
Bitterly weeping I turn'd away : “Sweet Emma Moreland, love no more
Can touch the heart of Edward Gray.
“ Ellen Adair she loved me well,
Against her father's and mother's will · To-day I sat for an hour and wept,
By Ellen's grave, on the windy hill.
Shy she was, and I thought her cold;
Thought her proud, and fled over the sea : Fillid I was with folly and spite,
When Ellen Adair was dying for me.
Cruel, cruel the words I said !
Cruelly came they back to-day: You're too slight and fickle,' I said, * To trouble the heart of Edward Gray.'
“ There I put my face in the grass
Whisper'd, 'Listen to my despair : I repent me of all I did :
Speak a little, Ellen Adair !'
“ Then I took a pencil, and wrote
On the mossy stone, as I lay, • Here lies the body of Ellen Adair ;
And here the heart of Edward Gray !'