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, I leave the plain, I climb the height : Fly o'er waste fens and windy fields. That often meet me here. I muse on joy that will not cease, Whose odours haunt my dreams ; This mortal armour that I wear, This weight and size, this heart and eyes, 178 VII. The clouds are broken in the sky, And thro' the mountain-walls A rolling organ-harmony Swells up, and shakes and falls. “ O just and faithful knight of God! So pass I hostel, hall, and grange ; By bridge and ford, by park and pale, All-arm'd I ride, whate’er betide, Until I find the holy Grail. EDWARD GRAY. SWEET Emma Moreland of yonder town "And have you lost your heart?" she said; Sweet Emma Moreland spoke to me : "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. 66 Shy she was, and I thought her cold; Thought her proud, and fled over the sea : Fill'd I was with folly and spite, When Ellen Adair was dying for me. 66 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 !' |