There many a flowery race hath sprung,
And fled before the mountain gale,
Since firft his fimple dirge ye fung:
Ye maidens fair of MARLIVALE.

Yet fill, when May with fragrant feet
Hath wander'd o'er your meeds of gold,
That dirge I hear fo fimply fweet
Far echoed from each evening fold.

II.

'Twas in the pride of WILLIAM's day,
When Scotland's honors flourished still,
That Moray's Earl, with mighty fway,
Bore rule o'er many a Highland hill.

And far for him their fruitful ftore
The faireft plains of Carron spread;

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 breaft that glows,
To Ellen's + charms, were carth and ftone.

William the Lyon, King of Scotland.

For

+ 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 feneft women in Europe, infomuch that she had feveral fuitors and admirers from foreign courts.

For her the youth of Scotland figh'd,
The Frenchman gay, the Spaniard grave,
And fmoother 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 Nithisdale,
That o'er thy cheek thofe rofes ftray'd,
Thy breath, the violet of the vale,

Thy voice, the mufic of the fhade!

Ah! woe to thee, that Ellen's love
"Alone to thy soft tale would yield!
For foon those gentle arms fhall prove
The conflict of a ruder field.'

'Twas thus a wayward fister spoke,
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 florms invest,

The valiant youth by Ellen lov'd

With aught that fear, or fate fuggef

For love, methinks, hath power to raise
The foul beyond a vulgar flate;
Th' unconquer'd banners he difplays
Control our fears, and fix cur fate.

III.

'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 fill,
And the wave flept against the fhore,
And the fun, funk beneath the hill,
Left his laft fmile on Lemmermore*.

Led by thofe waking dreams of thought
That warm the young unpraftis'd breaft,
Her wonted bower fweet Ellen fought,

And Carron murmur'd near, and footh'd her into reft,

IV.

There is fome kind and courtly fprite

That o'er the realin of fancy reigns,
Throws funfhine on the mafk of night,
And fmiles at flumber's powerless chains;

'Tis told, and I believe the tale,

At this foft hour the fprite was there, And spread with fairer flowers the vale,

And fill'd with fweeter founds the air.

A bower

* A chain of mountains running through Scotland from Eaft to Weft.

A bower he fram'd (for he could frame

What long might weary mortal wight: Swift as the lightnings rapid flame

Darts on the unfufpecting fight)..

Such bower he fram'd with magic hand,
As well that wizard bard hath wove,
In fcenes where fair Armida's wand
Wav'd all the witcheries of love.

Yet was it wrought in fimple fhew;

Nor Indian mines nor orient fhores Had lent their glories here to glow, Or yielded here their fhining flores.

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 afh, that courts the mountain air,
In all her painted blooms array'd,
The wilding's bloffom blushing fair,
Combin'd to form the flowery fhade.

With thyme that loves the brown hill's breaft,
The cowflip's fweet, reclining head,

The violet of fky-woven veft,

Was all the Fairy ground bespread.

But, who is he, whofe locks fo falt
Adown his manly thoulders flow;
Befide him lies the hunter's fpear,
Befide him fleeps the warrior's bow.

He bends to Ellen-(gentle fprite.
Thy fweet feductive arts forbear)
He courts her arms with fond delight,
And inflant vanishes in air.

V.

Haft thou not found at early dawn
Some foft ideas melt away,

If o'er fweet vale, or flowery lawn,
The fprite of dreams hath bid thee flray

Hall thou not fome fair obje&t feeu,
And when the ecting form was paft,
Still on thy memory found its mien,
And felt the fond idea laft ?.

Thou hast and oft the pictur'd view,
Seen in fome vifion counted vain,
Has ftruck thy wondering eye anew,
And bought the long loll-dream again.

With warrior's-bow, with hunter's fpear,.
With locks adown his fhoulder spread,
Young Nithifdale is ranging near-
He's ranging near yon mountain's head,

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