'Twas in the pride of WILLIAM's* Days,
When Scotland's honours flourished ftill,
That Moray's Earl, with mighty fway,
Bore rule o'er many a Highland hill.
And far for him their fruitful store
The fairest plains of Carron fpread,
In Fortune rich, in offspring poor,
An only daughter crown'd his Bed.
Oh! write not poor-the wealth that flows
In waves of Gold round India's throne,
All in her fhining breast that glows,
To Ellen's + charms, were earth and stone.
For her the Youth of Scotland figh'd,
The Frenchman gay, the Spaniard grave,
And smoother Italy applied,
And many an English Baron brave.
In vain by foreign arts affail'd,
No foreign loves her breaft beguile, And England's honeft valour fail'd,
Paid with a cold but courteous fmile.
"Ah! woe to thee, young Nithildale,
"That o'er thy cheek those roses stray'd,
"Thy breath, the violet of the vale,
Thy voice, the mufic of the fhade!
* William the Lyon, King of Scotland.
The Lady Ellen, only daughter of John Earl of Moray, betrothed to the Earl of Nithifdale, and afterwards to the Earl Barnard, was efteemed one of the fineft women in Europe, infomuch that she had several fuitors and admirers from Foreign Courts.
"Ah! woe to thee, that Ellen's love
"Alone to thy foft tale would yield!
"For foon thofe gentle arms fhall
"The conflict of a ruder field."
"Twas thus a wayward fifter fpoke,
And caft a rueful glance behind,
As from her dimwood glen fhe broke,
And mounted on the moaning wind.
She spoke and vanish'd-more unmov'd
Than Moray's rocks, when forms invest,
The valiant youth by Ellen lov'd
With aught that fear, or fate fuggeft.
For love, methinks, hath power to raise
The foul above a vulgar state;
Th' unconquer'd banners he difplays
Controul our fears, and fix our fate.
"Twas when, on fummer's fofteft eve,
Of clouds that wander'd weft away,
Twilight with gentle hand did weave
Her fairy robe of night and day.
When all the mountain gales were ftill,
And the wave flept against the fhore,
And the fun funk beneath the hill,
Left his laft fmile on Lemmermore
Led by those waking dreams of thought
That warm the young unpractis'd breast,
Her wonted bower fweet Ellen fought,
And Carron murmur'd near, and footh'd her into rest.
* A chain of mountains running through Scotland from East to West.
There is fome kind and courtly sprite,
That o'er the realm of fancy reigns,
Throws funshine on the mask of night,
And fmiles at flumber's powerlefs chains
'Tis told and I believe the tale,
At this foft hour the fprite was there, And fpread with fairer flowers the vale, And fill'd with fweeter founds the air.
A bower he fram'd (for he could frame
What long might weary mortal wight:
Swift as the lightning's rapid flame
Darts on the unfufpecting fight.)
Such bower he fram'd with magic hand
As well that wizzard bard hath wove,
In fcenes where fair Armida's Wand
Wav'd all the witcheries of love.
Yet was it wrought in fimple shew;
Nor Indian Mines nor orient shores
Had lent their glories here to glow,
Or yielded here their fhining stores.
All round a poplar's trembling arms
The wild rofe wound her damask flower;
The woodbine lent her fpicy charms,
That loves to weave the lover's bower.
The ash that courts the mountain-air,
In all her painted blooms array'd,
The wilding's bloffom blufhing fair,
Combin'd to form the flowery fhade.
With thyme that loves the brown hill's breast, The cowflip's fweet reclining head,
The violet of sky woven vett,
Was all the fairy ground bespread.
But, who is ke, whofe locks fo fair
Adown his manly fhoulders flow
Befide him lies the hunter's fpear,
Befide him sleeps the warrior's bow.
He bends to Ellen-(gentle fprite.
Thy fweet feductive arts forbear)
He courts her arms with fond delight,
And inftant vanishes in air.
Haft thou not found at early dawn
Some foft ideas melt away,
If o'er fweet vale, or flowery lawn,
The sprite of dreams hath bid thee ftray?
Haft thou not fome fair object feen,
And, when the fleeting form was paft,
Still on thy memory found its mein,
And felt the fond idea laft?
Thou haft-and oft the pictur'd view,
Seen in fome vifion 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 fhoulders spread,
Young Nithifdale is ranging near-
He's ranging near yon mountain's head.
Scarce had one pale moon pafs'd away,
And fill'd her filver urn again,
When in the devious chace to ftray,
Afar from all his woodland train.
To Carron's banks his fate confign'd,
And, all to fhun the fervid hour,.
He fought fome friendly fhade to find,
And found the vifionary bower.
Led by the golden ftar of love,
Sweet Ellen took her wonted way,
And in the deep defending Grove
Sought refuge from the fervid day.-
Oh !-who is he whofe ringlets fair
Disorder'd o'er his green vest flow,
Reclin'd in reft-whofe funny hair
Half hides the fair cheek's ardent glow?
"Tis he, that sprite's illufive gueft,
(Ah me! that fprites can fate controul!)
That lives ftill imag'd on her breast,
That lives ftill pictur'd in her foul.
As when fome gentle fpirit fed
From earth to breathe Elyfian air,
And, in the train whom we call dead,
Perceives its long-lov'd partner there.
Soft, fudden pleasure rushes o'er,
Refiftlefs, o'er its airy frame,
To find its future fate reftore
The object of its former flame.
So Ellen ftood- lefs power to move
Had he, who bound in flumber's chain,
Seem'd haply, o'er his hills to rove,
And wind his woodland chafe again.
She flood, but trembled--mingled fear
And fond delight and melting love
Seiz'd all her foul, fhe came not near,
She came not near that fated grove.
She ftrives to fly-from wizzard's wand
As well might powerlefs captive fly-
The new cropt flower fails from her hand-
Ah! fall not with that flower to die.
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