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But, who is he, whose locks so fair

Adown his manly shoulders flow; Befide him lies the hunter's spear,

Beside him Neeps the warrior's bow.

He bends to Ellen-(gentle sprite.

Thy sweet seductive arts forbear) He courts her arms with fond delight,

And instant vanishes in air.

Haft thou not found at early dawn

Some soft ideas melt away,
If o'er sweet vale, or flowery lawn,

The sprite of dreams hath bid thee stray? Haft thou not fome fair obje& feen,

And, when the fleeting form was past, Still on thy memory found its mein,

And felt the fond idea laft?

Thou haft-and oft the pictur'd view,

Seen in some vision counted vain, Has ftruck thy wondering eye anew,

And brought the long loft dream again. With warrior-bow, with hunter's fpear,

With locks adown his shoulders spread, Young Nithisdale is ranging near

He's ranging near yon mountain's head. Scarce had one pale moon pass’d away,

And fillid her silver urn again, When in the devious chace to stray,

Afar from all his woodland train.

To Carron's banks his fate consign'd,

And, all to sun the fervid hour,
He fought some friendly fade to find,

And found the visionary bower.

VI. Led by the golden star of love,

Sweet Ellen took her wonted way, And in the deep defending Grove

Sought refuge from the fervid day.Oh !—who is he whose ringlets fair

Disorder'd o'er his green vest flow, Reclin'd in re-whose funny hair

Half hides the fair cheek's ardent glow?

"Tis he, that sprite's illufive guest,

(Ah me! that sprites can fate controul!) That lives ftill imag'd on her breast,

That lives ftill pictur'd in her soul. As when some gentle {pirit fed

From earth to breathe Elysian air, And, in the train whom we call dead,

Perceives its long-lov'd partner there.

Soft, sudden pleasure rushes o'er,

Refiftless, o'er its airy frame, To find its future fate restore

The object of its former flame.

So Ellen stoodless power to more

Had he, who bound in flumber's chain, Seem'd haply, o'er his hills to rove,

And wind his woodland chase again.

She food, but trembled-mingled fear

And fond delight and melting love Seiz'd all her soul, she came not near,

She came not near that fated grove.

She strives to fly--from wizzard's wand

As well might powerless captive flyThe new cropt flower falls from her hand

Ah! fall not with that power to die.


Haft thou not seen some azure gleam

Smile in the morning's orient eye,
And skirt the reddening clouds soft beam

What time the sun was hafting nigh?

Thou hast and thou canst fancy well

As any muse that meets thine ear, The soul-set eye of Nithisdale,

When wak'd, it fix'd on Ellen near,

Silent they gaz'd that filence broke ;

• Hail Goddess of these Groves, he cried, • O let me wear thy gentle yoke.'

• O let me in thy fervice bide.

• For thee I'll climb the mountain steep,

• Unwearied chace the deitin'd prey, ! For thee I'll pierce the wild-wood deep,

· And part the sprays that vex thy way.'

For thee

ftranger, cease,' she faid, And swift away, like Daphne, flew, But Daphne's fight was not delay'd

By aught that to her borom grew.

'Twas Atalanta's golden fruit,

The fond Idea that contin'd
Fair Ellen's steps, and bless'd his fuit,

Who was not far, not far behind.


O love ! within those golden vales,

Those genial airs where thou vast born, Where nature liftening thy soft tales,

Leans on the rosy breast of morn.

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Where the sweet Smiles, the Graces dwell,

And tender sighs the heart emove, In filent eloquence to tell

Thy tale, O foul-fubduing love !
Ah! wherefore should grim rage be nigh,

And dark distrust with changeful face,
And Jealousy's reverted eye
Be near thy fair thy favour'd place?

Earl Barnard was of high degree,

And Lord of many a Lowland Hind,
And long for Ellen love had he,

Had love, but not of gentle kind. From Moray's Halls her abfent hour

He watch'd with all a Miser's care : The wide Domain, the princely Dowe

Made Ellen more than Ellen fair.

Ah wretch! to think the liberal soul

May thus with fair affection part ! Though Lothian's vales thy sway controul,

Know, Lothian is not worth one heart.

Studious he marks her absent hour,

And winding far where Carron flows, , Sudden he sees the fated bower,

And red rage on his dark brow glows.

For who is he?-'tis Nithifdale !

And that fair form with arm reclin'd On his ?-'tis Ellen of the vale,

'Tis She (O powers of vengeance !) kind.

Should he that vengeance swift pursue ?

No--that would all his hopes destroy? Moray would vanish from his view,

And rob him of a Miser's joy.

Unseen to Moray's Halls he hies-

He calls his faves, his ruffian band, • And haite to yonder groves,' He cries,

• And ambush's lie by Carron's strand,'

• What time ye mark from bower or glen,

• A gentle lady take her way • To distance due, and far from ken,

• Allow her length of time to stray.

Then ransack straight that



groves. • With hunter's spear, and veft of green, * If chance, a rofy stripling roves,

• Ye well can aim your arrows keen.'

And now the ruffian Naves are nigh,

And Ellen takes her homeward way: Though stay'd by many a tender figh,

She can no longer, longer stay.

Pensive, against yon poplar pale

The lover leans his gentle heart, Revolving inany a tender tale,

And wondering still how they could pait.

Three arrow's pierc'd the desert air,

Ere yet his tender dreams depart ; And one struck deep his forehead fair,

And one went through his gentle heart.

Love's waking dream is lost in sleep

He lies beneath yon poplar pale ;
Ah ! could we marvel


weep; Ye maidens fair of Marlivale !

When all the mountain gales were still,

And the wave slept against the shore.
And the fun, funk beneath the hill,

Left his last smile on Lemmermore ;

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