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O weep not, lady, weep not fo;
Nor let vain fears alarm;
My little cell fhall fheiter thee,
And keep thee safe from harm.

It is not for myself I weep,
Nor for myself I fear;

But for my dear and only friend,

Who lately left me here:

And while fome fheltering bower he fought
Within this lonely wood,
Ah! fore I fear his wandering feet
Have flipt in yonder flood.

O truft in heaven the Hermit faid,
And to my cell repair;
Doubt not but I fhall find thy friend,
And cafe thee of thy care.

Then climbing up his rocky ftairs,
He fcales the cliff fo high;
And calls aloud, and waves his light,
To guide the ftranger's eye.

Among the the thickets long he winds
With careful steps and flow:
At length a voice return'd his call,
Quick anfwering from below.

O tell me father, tell me true,
If

you have chanc'd to fee

A gentle maid, I lately left
Beneath fome neighbouring tree.

But either I have loft the place,
Or fhe hath gone aftray:

And much I fear this fatal ftream

Hath fnatch'd her hence away.

Praise heaven, my fon, the Hermit faid; The lady's fafe and well :

And foon he joined the wandering youth, And brought him to his cell.

Then well was feen, these gentle friends
They lov'd each other dear:

The youth he prefs'd her to his heart;
The maid let fall a tear.

Ah! feldom had their hoft, I ween,
Beheld fo fweet a pair :

The youth was tall with manly bloom,
She flender, foft, and fair.

The youth was clad in foreft green,
With bugle-horn fo bright:
She in a filken robe and scarf,
Snatch'd up in hafty flight.

Sit down, my children, fays the Sage;
Sweet rest your limbs require :
Then heaps fresh fewel on the hearth,
And mends his little fire.

Partake, he faid, my fimple ftore,

Dried fruits, and milk, and curds;
And spreading all upon the board,
Invites with kindly words.

Thanks, father, for thy bounteous fare;
The youthful conple fay:

Then freely ate, and made good chear,
And talk'd their cares away.

Now fay, my children, (for perchance
My counfel may avail)

What ftrange adventure brought you here
Within this lonely dale?

Firft tell me, father, faid the youth, (Nor blame mine eager tongue)

What town is here? What lands are these? And to what lord belong?

Alas! my fon, the Hermit faid,

Why do I live to say,

The rightful lord of these domains
Is banish'd far away?

Ten winters now have fhed their fnows
On this my lowly hall,

Since valiant HOTSPUR (fo the North
Our youthful lord did call)

Against Fourth HENRY BOLINGBROKE
Led up his northern powers,
And ftoutly fighting loft his life
Near proud Salopia's towers.

One fon he left, a lovely boy,
His country's hope and heir;
And oh to fave him from his foes
It was his grandfire's care.

In Scotland safe he plac'd the child
Beyond the reach of ftrife,
Nor long before the brave old Earl
At Bramham loft his life.

And now the PERCY name, fo long
Our northern pride and boast,
Lies hid, alas! beneath a cloud;
Their honors reft and loft.

No chieftain of that noble house
Now leads our youth to arms:
The bordering Scots difpoil our fields,
And ravage all our farms.

Their halls and castles, once fo fair,
Now moulder in decay;

Proud ftrangers now ufurp their lands,
And bear their wealth away.

Nor far from hence where full ftream

yon

Runs winding down the lea,

Fair WARKWORTH lifts her lofty towers, And overlooks the sea.

Thofe towers, alas! now ftand forlorn,
With noisome weeds o'erfpread,
Where feafted lords and courtly dames,
And where the poor were fed.

Meantime far off mid Scottish hills,
The PERCY lives unknown:
On ftranger's bounty he depends,
And may not claim his own.

O might I with thefe aged eyes,
But live to fee him here,
Then should my foul depart in blifs!
He faid, and dropt a tear.

And is the PERCY ftill fo lov'd,
Of all his friends and thee?
Then, blefs me, father, faid the youth,
For I thy gueft am H.

Silent he gaz'd, then turn'd afide

To wipe the tears he shed;

Then lifting up his hands and eyes,
Pour'd bleffings on his head:

Welcome, our dear and much lov'd lord,

Thy country's hope and care:

But who may this young lady be,

That is fo wonderous fair.

H

Now, father, listen to my tale,
And thou shalt know the truth:
And let thy fage advice direct,
My unexperienc'd youth.

In Scotland I've been nobly bred
Beneath the Regent's hand *,
In feats of arms, and every lore
To fit me for command.

With fond impatience long I burn'd
My native land to fee:

At length I won my guardian friend
To yield that boon to me.

Then up and down in hunter's garb

I wander'd as in chace,
Till in the noble NEVILLE's houfe +
I gain'd a hunter's place.

Sometime with him I liv'd unknown,
Till I'd the hap fo rare,

To please this young and gentle dame,
That baron's daughter fair.

Now, PERCY, faid the blufhing maid,

The truth I must reveal;

Souls

and

like to thine,

great generous, Their noble deeds conceal.

Robert Stuart, Duke of Albany. See the continuator of Fordon's Scoti-Chronicon, cap. 18, cap. 23, &c.

+ Ralph Neville, firl Earl of Wedmoreland, who chiefly refided at his two Caftles of Brancepeth, and Raby, both in the Bishoprick of Durham.

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