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Those sculptured halls my feet shall never tread,
In Fortune's car behold that minion ride,
Nature I'll court in her sequester'd haunts
And fearless Poverty shall guard the door,
MAY-EVE; OR, KATE OF ABERDEEN.
Steals softly through the night,
And kiss reflected light.
('Tis where you've seldom been),
With Kate of Aberdeen.
În rosy chaplets gay,
And give the promised May.
The promised May, when seen,
As Kate of Aberdeen.
We'll rouse the nodding grove;
And hail the maid I love :
He quits the tufted green:
'Tis Kate of Aberdeen.
Now lightsome o'er the level mead,
Where midnight fairies rove,
Or tune the reed to love:
She claims a virgin queen;
'Tis Kate of Aberdeen.
OWEN OF CARRON.
On Carron's side the primrose pale,
Why does it wear a purple hue ?
Why stream your eyes with pity's dew? 'Tis all with gentle Owen's blood
That purple grows the primrose pale ;
From each fair eye in Marlivale.
The sun his golden tresses gave,
To him who rests in yonder grave!
Though nobly born, is Owen laid,
He sleeps beneath the waving shade.
And fled before the mountain gale,
Ye maidens fair of Marlivale!
Yet still, when May with fragrant feet
Hath wander'd o'er your meads of gold, That dirge I hear so simply sweet
Far echo'd from each evening fold.
'Twas in the pride of William's day,
When Scotland's honours flourish'd still, That Moray's earl, with mighty sway,
Bare rule o’er many a Highland hill. And far for him their fruitful store
The fairer plains of Carron spread; In fortune rich, in offspring poor,
An only daughter crownd his bed. Oh! write not poor—the wealth that flows
In waves of gold round India's throne, All in her shining breast that glows,
To Ellen's charms were earth and stone. For her the youth of Scotland sigh’d,
The Frenchman gay, the Spaniard grave, And smoother Italy applied,
And many an English baron brave, In vain by foreign arts assail'd,
No foreign loves her breast beguile, And England's honest valour fail'd,
Paid with a cold but courteous smile, « Ah! wo to thee, young Nithisdale,
That o'er thy cheek those roses stray'd Thy breath, the violet of the vale,
Thy voice, the music of the shade!
.. Ah! wo to thee, that Ellen's love
Alone to thy soft tale would yield! For soon those gentle arms shall prove
The conflict of a ruder field.”
'Twas thus a wayward sister spoke,
And cast a rueful glance behind,
And mounted on the moaning wind.
She spoke and vanish'd; more unmoved
Than Moray's rocks, when storms invest, The valiant youth by Ellen loved,
With aught that fear or fate suggest.
For love, methinks, hath power to raise
The soul beyond a vulgar state ; Th’ unconquer'd banners he displays
Control our fears and fix our fate.
'Twas when, on summer's softest eve,
Of clou that wander'd west away, Twilight with gentle hand did weave
Her fairy robe of night and day; When all the mountain gales were still,
And the waves slept against the shore, And the sun, sunk beneath the hill,
Left his last smile on Lammermore;
Led by these waking dreams of thought,
That warm the young, unpractised breast, Her wonted bower sweet Ellen sought, And Carron murmur'd near, and soothed her
There is some kind and courtly sprite
That o'er the realm of fancy reigns, Throws sunshine on the mask of night,
And smiles at slumber's powerless chains