The Lord of Lothian's fertile vale,
Ill fated Ellen claims thy hand :
Thou know'ft not that thy Nithisdale
Was low laid by his ruffian-band.
And Moray with unfather'd eyes,
Fix'd on fair Lothian's fertile dale,
Attends his human facrifice,
Without the Grecian painter's veil.
O married love! thy bard fhall own,
Where two congenial fouls unite,
Thy golden chains inlaid with down,
Thy lamps with heaven's own fplendor bright.
But if no radiant ftar of love
O hymen! fmile on thy fair rite,
Thy chain a wretched weight fhall prove,
Thy lamp a sad sepulchral light.
And now has time's flow-wandering wing
Borne many a year unmark'd with speed-
Where is the boy by Carron's fpring,
Who bound his vale-flowers with the reed?
Ah me! thofe flowers he binds no more;
No early charm returns again;
The parent, nature keeps in ftore
Her beft joys for her little train.
No longer heed the fun-beam bright
That plays on Carron's breast he can,
Reafon has lent Her quivering light,
And shewn the checquer'd field of man.
As the first human heir of earth
With penfive eye himfelf furvey'd,
And, all unconfcious of his birth,
Sate thoughtful oft in Eden's fhade.
In penfive thought fo Owen ftray'd Wild Carron's lonely woods among, And once, within their greeneft Glade, He fondly fram'd this fimple fong:
Why is this crook adorn'd with gold?
Why am I tales of ladies told?
Why does no labour me employ,
If I am but a fhepherd's boy?
A filken veft like mine fo green,
In shepherd's hut I have not feen-
Why should I in fuch vefture joy,
If I am but a fhepherd's boy?
I know it is no fhepherd's art
His written meaning to impart-
They teach me, fure, an idle toy,
If I am but fhepherd's boy?
This bracelet bright that binds my arm
It could not come from shepherd's farm
It only would that arm annoy,
If I were but a shepherd's boy.
And, O thou filent picture fair,
That lov'it to fmile upon me there,
O fay, and fill my heart with joy,
That I am not a fhepherd's boy.
Ah lovely youth thy tender lay
May not thy gentle life prolong;
See'st thou yon nightingale a prey;
The fierce hawk hovering o'er his fong?
His little heart is large with love:
He sweetly hails his evening ftar,
And Fate's more pointed arrows move,
Infidious from his eye afar.
The fhepherdefs, whofe kindly care
Had watch'd o'er Owen's infant breath,
Muft now their filent mansions share,
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 t
Ah! youth to leave thee loth am I,
Tho' I be not thy parent dear;
And woud'st thou wish, or ere I die,
• The ftory of thy birth to hear?
But it will make thee much bewail,
And it will make thy fair eye fwell-'
She faid, and told the woefome tale,
As footh as fhepherdess might tell.
The heart, that forrow doom'd to share,
Has worn the frequent seal of woe,
Its fad impreffions learns to bear,
And finds full oft, its ruin flow.
But when that feal is firft impreft,
When the young heart its pain fhall try,
For the foft, yielding, trembling breast,
Oft feems the ftartled foul to fly.
Yet filed not Owen's-wild amaze
In palenefs cloath'd, and lifted hands,
And horror's dread, unmeaning gaze,
Mark the poor ftatue, as it stands.
The fimple guardian of his life
Look'd wistful for the tear to glide,
But when the faw his tearless strife,
Silent, the lent him one,and died.
No, I am not a fhepherd's boy,'
Awaking from his dream, he faid,
Ah where is now the promised joy
Of this?-for ever, ever fled!
O picture dear for her lov'd fake
How fondly could my heart bewail!
My friendly shepherdefs, O wake,
And tell me more of this fad tale.
O tell me more of this fad tale-
No; thou enjoy thy gentle fleep!
And I will go to Lothian's vale,
And more than all her waters weep."
Owen to Lothian's vale is fled-
Earl Barnard's lofty towers appear-
O art thou there,' the full heart faid,
O! art thou there, my parent dear?'
Yes fhe is there: From idle ftate
Oft has fhe ftole her hour to weep ;
Think how the by thy cradle fate,'
And how the fondly faw thee sleep *.'
Now tries his trembling hand to frame
Full many a tender line of love!
And ftill he blots the parent's name,
For that, he fears, might fatal prove.
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 firft embrace to wait,
And many a foft fear fill'd his mind.
Anxious for his fond letter's fate.
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!
She comes not ;-can fhe 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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