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Yes fhe is there: From idle ftate
Oft has she stole her hour to weep;
Think how the by thy cradle fate,'
And how the fondly faw thee fleep *.'

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Now tries his trembling hand to frame
Full many a tender line of love
And till he blots the parent's name,
For that, he fears, might fatal prove.

XXVII.

O'er a fair fountain's fmiling fide
Reclin'd a dim tower clad with mofs,
Where every bird was wont to bide,
That languifh'd for his partner's lofs.

This fcene he chofe, this fcene affign'd
A parent's first embrace to wait,
many
a foft fear fill'd his mind.
Anxious for his fond letter's fate.

And

The hand that bore thofe lines of love,
The well informing bracelet bore―
Ah! may they not unprofperous prove !
Ah! fafely pafs yon dangerous door!

XXVIII.

'She comes not ;-can she then delay ?
'Cried the fair youth, and dropt a tear-
'Whatever filial love could fay,

'To her I faid and call'd her dear.

* See the ancient Scottish Ballad, called Gill Morrice.

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She comes

-Oh! No-encircled round 'Tis fome 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,
rival nigh.

In

he deems rage

a

'Tis o'er-thofe locks that wav'd in gold,
That wav'd adown thofe cheeks fo fair,
Wreath'd in the gloomy tyrant's hold,
Hang from the fever'd head in air.

That ftreaming head he joys to bear
In horrid guife 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 thefe-Ellen of the vale,

The pictur'd bracelet foon fhe knew,
And foon her lovely cheek grew pale.

The trembling victim, ftraight he led,
Ere! yet her foul's firft fear was o'er ;
He pointed to the ghaftly head-

She faw-and funk, to rife no more.

THE

HERMIT of WARKWORTH.

A

Northumberland BALLA D.

In three Fits or Cantos.

By the Rev. Dr. PERCY, Lord Bishop of Dromore, Editor of the Reliques of Ancient English Poetry.

G

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The Mufe there found them all remote from view,
Obfcur'd with weeds, and scattered o'er the dale.

O Lady, may fo flight a gift prevail,
And at your gracious hands acceptance find?
Say, may an ancient legendary tale,
Amuse, delight, or move the polish'd mind?

Surely the cares and woes of human kind,
Tho' fimply told, will gain each gentle ear:
But all for you the Mufe her lay defign'd,
And bade your noble ancestors appear;

She feeks no other praise, if you commend
Her great protectrefs, patronefs, and friend.

MDCCLXX.

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